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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"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!"

Foreman bit his tongue and gave up on the conversation about kids altogether. Obviously he and Amber had different ideas, but he'd never known that she was so committed to keeping kids out of her life that she couldn't stand her own niece. He still didn't think it was quite that, but going down the path of arguing her own views with her would get his head bitten off sooner rather than later. "It means that usually you like the attention, but that changed as soon as we got in the door here," he said. Amber had been withdrawn, all her usual careless belief in the rightness of her own opinions erased. Foreman couldn't believe that she'd actually knuckle under Geoffrey's opinion, but she hadn't even said a word about what bullshit the evolutionary psychologists and social Darwinists staffing the New York Times usually wrote about kids and parenting.

"They aren't accusations!" Foreman stood up straighter, his eyes going automatically to the kitchen doorway in case Kate started wondering whether they'd snuck off for a drink or a make-out session. He stepped closer to her and tried to take her hand, although he didn't know if she'd allow it. "I want to know what's changed." Sure, she'd announced him as his boyfriend, but Foreman had heard the overcompensation in her voice. He'd thought at first it was just awkwardness, but now it seemed like embarrassment--or even a challenge to her family, daring them to find something wrong with the first guy she'd brought home, and making sure he was as 'controversial' as possible when she did. That was assuming too much, and Foreman knew it; he didn't want to believe it of Amber, that he was her attempt at defying her family's standards, that she'd invited him first because it would, in the end, get her some attention. Why else would she be overreacting like this if it wasn't because he'd actually been accepted by her parents, apparently effortlessly? Foreman couldn't figure it out, and he didn't know why she was getting pissed off, either. "Look, have I done anything wrong, or was it someone else?" he asked. "Because it's something, and I don't know what."

There'd been here a few minutes, more than enough to pour themselves new drinks. Amber knew for a fact that her mom would notice, and possibly some of the others too; it depended on how good the conversation was, and with conflicting groups in the same room-- Aunt Jude and her mom, Madeleine and the other adults-- awkward moments were way more likely. They'd think she and Eric were talking about them.

Eric was-- frustrated. No wonder. He didn't know the situation or the rules, and Amber knew how much he needed to know everything. To be in control. That was why she hadn't wanted to bring him here, because he would get pissy. But instead of sympathizing, Amber just found herself more annoyed at his insistence on having everything systematized and clearly labelled. She and her family weren't under the microscope, ready for dissection. "Of course it changed," Amber snapped back as quiety as she could.

Their time was up. Amber started to pour herself her wine, cold-shouldering him as he went on and on, his tone growing hotter even as his voice lowered. She didn't have to see his face to know those familiar anger creases had deepened on his forehead. "We don't have time for this." Amber took Eric's glass and poured him wine as well. "You haven't done anything." If she didn't tell him that much, he'd stew in his resentment and it'd grow into a thing. "It's like I told you, things are difficult with my family. We'll talk about it later." With that, Amber swung towards the door.

Amber wouldn't take his hand. Foreman withdrew the offer and backed off, feeling himself stiffen up slightly. She wasn't answering him and other than a kiss on the cheek, she hadn't touched him since they'd gotten away from the living room. Foreman was as sensitive as she was to the prospect of getting caught in a compromising position, but he didn't think that holding his hand counted, when they weren't even in the same room as her parents, where Amber had sat next to him easily.

This wasn't easy. Foreman knew that. If their positions had been reversed, he knew he'd be trying as hard as he could to orchestrate every sentence in the conversation. He'd probably be sweating every time his mom opened her mouth, in case she was having a bad day, wandering through time, in all likelihood calling Amber by the name of his high school girlfriend, or worse, Claire. But Amber was a doctor; even if she grilled him about the information his mom let slip, she wouldn't judge her for the dementia. Still, Foreman would be sweating it out, tense every second. Somebody would mention Marcus, either his dad or more likely his mom, asking where Marc was. So, yeah, he got it. It wasn't easy introducing someone to your family. But Amber didn't have that kind of skeletons in her closet. No incarcerated relatives, nobody with debilitating illnesses that could make them blurt out the most embarrassing information at the worst possible moment. Not to mention that his dad would probably mention Foreman not going to church anymore. He usually managed to work that into a conversation. He'd probably want to know Amber's beliefs, too. There were a hell of a lot of things that Foreman didn't want to deal with. Which was why he hadn't invited Amber to his parents' for Thanksgiving. Again and again he kept running up against that fact: if she didn't want him here, why had she agreed to the invitation? Just because her mom had cornered Foreman on the phone once? Amber was an adult, fully capable of saying no, meaning it, and explaining to him that she didn't think they were ready yet. It had been six weeks--he was an adult, too. He could take it. And yet here they were.

Amber had poured them both wine, and a whole lot of defensiveness besides. Foreman took his glass. He wanted to stop her and demand what things? but she was right. They'd been away from the conversation long enough. He wasn't completely insensitive, he knew what she wanted. He took his glass and followed her back into the living room, intending to throw himself back into the conversation. Hell, maybe he'd even disagree with Geoffrey; mildly, of course, but even that much would be both satisfying and an implicit defence of Amber. And probably completely unexpected.

"Everything all right?" Kate asked, with the slight tension that showed she'd noticed how long they'd taken, and she was reprimanding them--or probably Amber--for breaking up the conversation by escaping for however short a time.

Foreman smiled. He was being a good guest; he was doing this for Amber. Even if he couldn't get a straight answer out of her, he could at least run interference for her. "Just discussing wine," he said. "You have a nice selection." There'd been a few bottles in the wine rack in the kitchen, as well as the Sauvignon chilling in the fridge. He fervently hoped that somebody in the family was enough of a connoisseur to take the conversational bait.

Eric trailed behind her. At least they could agree on keeping up appearances; Amber didn't know what she'd have done if he'd insisted on talking then and there, but whatever it was, it wouldn't have been pleasant. Nothing unforgiveable had happened-- yet.
Amber caught her mom's sharp tone. Before she could glide into a smooth lie about going over the details of their latest, complex, and very important case, Eric was already speaking, talking about wine. Amber's eyes widened slightly-- that wasn't an invention that'd fly so well with her family. It'd only put pressure on her parents to pretend as if they knew anything about wine, when her mom was likely to buy the most expensive bottle of European she could afford than any other factor.

Her mom stiffened, squaring out her shoulders. "Thank you. I do try to keep an eye out for the best--" Was that her dad hiding a smirk? Oh, god, he better not laugh, otherwise they'd all be in trouble.

"Actually, I brought the Sauvignon you're drinking now," Geoffrey said with a light grin. "It was hard to pack with all of Madeleine's things, but I knew it'd be worth it." Madeleine, back between her parents on the sofa, stirred at the mention of her name, but a frown crossed her face as though she was pretty sure that wasn't a positive mention. She did get some things right.

"It's pretty good," Amber granted, taking Eric's hand as she sat down in their previous seats. "Very sophisticated," she said knowingly, though she had yet to take a single sip.

The hallway phone rang. Amber and, from the look of it, her mom, sat up, ready to go get it, but her dad beat them for once, rising slowly but with more conviction. He hadn’t gotten a five-minute break in the kitchen like Amber and Eric, and everyone else was more in their element, here in the living room exchanging small talk. "I’ll be back," he said, waving his hand above his head as he walked away.

Kate's uncomfortable smile and immediate but vague response to Foreman's wine gambit said it all. She didn't know a thing about wine, and Foreman had backed her into a corner. With sudden clarity, Foreman remembered his very first night with Amber. She'd snapped at their waiter over the first bottle of wine he'd brought them, only to turn to Foreman and admit she didn't know a thing about it, only knew that acting dissatisfied would get her something better. Oh, great. Instead of making things easier for Amber, he'd stuck his foot in it, again. Foreman looked down into his wine and wished it would disappear as easily as the rye. If he took a sip now he'd look like he was judging it, and if he took his time, he'd look like an even bigger snob.

Geoffrey's interruption was, for once, welcome. If he'd brought this wine, then Foreman's opinion of it wouldn't reflect on Kate. And he didn't really care if he insulted Geoffrey: Geoffrey seemed immune to any implied negative opinion. Still, there was no point in formenting bad feeling. Foreman raised the glass to his lips and sipped, contenting himself with a nod afterwards. It was good, but Foreman suddenly didn't feel like bullshitting about the bouquet or the undertones. He knew enough terminology to get through a conversation, but he'd probably had even less exposure to quality wines in his life than the Volakises. This wasn't about playing more-sophisticated-than-thou, which seemed to be the game Geoffrey was interested in.

Chris got up to answer the phone, and Geoffrey sat back as if he was taking on the role of host with his father out of the room. "So you're in neurology?" he asked, with probably the same hearty tone of voice he'd use to ask if Foreman was in "business", whatever business it might happen to be. "Amber tells us these really quite unbelievable stories about the patients she treats. Wouldn't you say they're more the exception than the rule? I bet most people you see only have a headache."

Foreman's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass. All the eyes in the room were on him, Jude's with a kind of fervent belief, the rest with various degrees of curiosity. "Actually, Amber and I work in the same department," he said. "We're known for the unusual cases we take on." There had to be a way to get out of the hole he'd dug for himself with the wine comment, and as soon as he thought of it, Foreman latched on to the idea like he'd grab a life raft from the deck of a sinking ship. "A couple of weeks ago we had a patient come in for hallucinating. It could've been anything. At first there seemed to be some symptoms of a hereditary disease. But Amber found out she had ergot poisoning. It's a kind of diseased rye; the patient was eating homemade bread."

Amber closed her eyes and allowed herself a generous sip of her wine as Eric recounted her biggest victory in the Diagnostics Department. God, warning him that her family was difficult hadn't been enough; she should have trained him in what to and what not to say.

"Goodness," she heard Aunt Jude say, and she could just imagine her holding a hand to her chest, her mouth opening slightly with awe. "I have homemade bread at home! Eric, do you think I'm at risk?"

But her mom had started to speak at the same time as Aunt Jude, and her voice was louder. "Ah, yes, that story. Amber's told us all about it." No doubt about it; there was a light tone of recrimination. It'd have been one thing for her mom to boast about her daughter's feats over and over to her friends and acquaintances-- another entirely for her to have to be subjected to the same facts more than once.

"Even I've heard it," Geoffrey piped in. "I'm starting to think she hasn't done anything else there. Admit it, sister, you're handing out tissues to people with the common cold."

Amber smiled thinly, as she knew he'd said it as a supposed joke. No one laughed, but no one berated him either. That was alright. She'd learned to stick up for herself long ago. "And you're still getting men to pay nothing in alimony and child support, ha ha." There, see how much he liked that joke. He frowned, as did Leila, but Amber was within acceptable boundaries. Her mom would later rebuke her for the comment, but that was a small price for self-defense.

For now, the other price was the stiffening tension that overtook the room. A few stilted seconds passed, punctured only by Aunt Jude's sudden exclamation of the cold.

"Am I interrupting something?" her dad asked from the doorway, coming back.

"Nothing much," Amber's mom, tilting her head up at him and her relief unsubtle. "Who was it?"

"Brian-- guess what."

"They missed their flight," her mom said flatly.

"It was canceled," he corrected. "They won't get here until tomorrow."

Whatever reaction Foreman had been hoping for--some acknowledgement of just what it meant that Amber had made that intuitive leap from symptoms to diagnosis--he was more than disappointed. There wasn't a flicker of understanding on anyone's face. "No," he told Jude, "it's very rare," but he could already tell it wouldn't have any effect. She'd probably go home and throw out all her loaves and feel very virtuous doing it.

Christ, he couldn't win. The disappointment, the defeat, felt all too familiar, although he usually didn't get this feeling until the end of his visits home. He always felt like he'd accomplished nothing, like all the triumphs he worked to build in his regular life were shown to be nothing but castles in the clouds by the time he was ready to head back after being home. It was worse, this time, because it wasn't fair for Amber. Foreman felt sick with anger he couldn't show. Amber's jibe back at Geoffrey chilled the room right down, but Foreman could tell from the way she said it that she'd known the effect it would have and had fought back the only way she knew how.

While Kate and Chris went back and forth over whether Brian could conceivably switch his reservation over to another airline and get home any sooner, and whether it would be worth the trouble if he did, since any earlier and he'd be arriving jet-lagged in the middle of the night, Foreman put his hand on Amber's knee and said quietly, "I'm sorry. My dad gives all the credit to God when I save somebody's life. I don't know if this is better or worse."

Geoffrey and Leila had joined the conversation about whether it made sense to make Brian pay more just to get here a few hours earlier and how all the other flights were probably booked already; Aunt Jude listened in attentively, probably waiting for a moment to declare the statistics for plane accidents during the holidays. It'd be just her and Eric, for a couple of minutes.

Amber tipped her forehead towards Eric, a tired, wry smile tugging at her lips. Nothing seemed very funny right now, but what else could she do but find humor where she could? Though, poor Eric. At least she knew what to expect and where the bombs lay; his steps in good faith were blowing up in his face. She covered his hand with hers. What she really wanted to do was smooth away the strained lines from his face; kiss him, too, if that helped.

“That sucks,” Amber noted sympathetically. “At least I get the credit.” She hadn't known that about him, or his father. Maybe he wasn't just dealing with the challenges of her family, but remembering his own. Amber squeezed his hand tighter, resolving to be more supportive. She'd been wrapped up in her conflicts here-- like all the other times she’d come back-- and had left him hanging, shutting him out with her anger. Amber gazed deep into Eric's eyes; sometimes, in the right light, she could catch gold flecks in them. She asked quietly, "Is all this bringing back bad memories?"

She heard the kitchen door open again; her mom must be going to set dinner on the table. "Need help--" Amber called out, already knowing what the answer would be; in previous years she'd been expected to give a hand, but with Eric here, she'd been shifted to pseudo-guest status.

"You all stay seated," her mom said.

Foreman was glad most of the family had gotten caught up in a debate that didn't really matter. Geoffrey was saying something about how they could present Brian with the cheapest, most logical travel plan, and it would still be no guarantee that Brian would make the effort to change his ticket or arrive at the right gate if he did. Chris was trying to calm everyone down, with the simple pronouncement that if Brian said he had it figured out, then he did, and they'd still be seeing him for Thanksgiving dinner, which was the important part. It gave Foreman a moment to feel like Amber had actually seen him again. Ever since she'd announced 'her boyfriend', like a spectacle on display, he hadn't been sure she remembered him, Eric, the guy she'd been sleeping with for the past six weeks. When she smiled at him, he realized he might've been treating her the same way, like a prop in a game of good manners. He smiled back and leaned into her, so that their shoulders were pressed closer together.

He was taken aback by Amber's question. He shouldn't have been; the topic of families and going home and holidays were all around them, and he knew Amber was curious about his family. She rarely let an admission of his pass by without asking a follow-up question, even if she was careful enough to step around the obvious pitfalls in his past. Foreman took a sip of his wine, frowning thoughtfully. Too much was different to really make comparisons. The Volakises were better off; their house and yard and neighbourhood all showed that. But Kate's admonishments to everyone to stay seated while she got dinner ready, or the way Amber and Geoffrey wrestled for the most credit, was familiar. "I don't know," he said. "It's not like Trenton." Maybe everything was too different, so that it didn't evoke specific memories, either good or bad. And for as long as Foreman had been going home for holidays, during college and med school, Mom had been fine, asymptomatic still. So he didn't associate Thanksgiving with bad memories. Sometimes Marcus had been there--usually eager about fresh starts, making grand promises, making Mom smile--or else he wasn't, and the only time he was mentioned was when Dad said grace, almost as if eating his Thanksgiving meal at the Downstate Correctional Facility was just an obligation he hadn't been able to get out of. "Is it different with me here?" Foreman wasn't sure he was ready for some kind of evaluation on his performance so far, but he could swallow his pride enough to get a few pointers.

"All right, everyone," Kate announced, coming back into the living room. "We're ready for dinner. Everyone head into the dining room."

Amber turned into Eric, accepting the small but important gesture of affection; and just like that they created their own world right where she'd never have imagined it possible. It brought back the entire reason why she'd dragged him here in the first place: because she loved him. Amber felt that reminder viscerally, a sudden flare to see his smile, sincere if worn.

Eric's happiness was short-lived, replaced by surprise at her question. Amber had thought it was a logical step in their conversation, but apparently not, if it took him that long to think up an answer. Her thumb absent-mindedly stroked the smooth, soft fabric of his suit pants.

Trenton was different how? Poorer? Amber had the impression Eric had grown up in "the hood," with brick city walls covered in graffiti and the wail of a police siren never too far off. …Maybe she'd watched too much TV. Whether or not visiting her home had revived any memories of his own, though, he side-stepped by asking her a question. And, unlike Eric, Amber's answer was automatic: "Yeah, it's better." Having Eric as an ally here, Amber wasn't alone. He'd pissed her off in the kitchen and said a couple of wrong things to her parents, but he had her back in a way no one else in the room did.

Her high school friends once told Amber that her mom was worse than a drill sergeant; she'd defended her, but there were times that the description fit like a glove. "You don't want to cross her," Amber whispered softly to Eric; her mom had already turned and walked away, so there wasn't as much danger being overheard.

Geoffrey offered Aunt Jude his arm to get up-- though Amber knew she didn't need it-- and Madeleine darted to the table like a bullet. Amber did feel a twinge of sympathy for her-- she was pretty hungry, so she could only imagine the four year old. Amber led Eric to the dinning room, taking her usual seat next to her mom, who traditionally sat at the head of the table. There was a space next to her—not to mention the two empty seats where Brian and his girlfriend would’ve sat.

It's better. Foreman's chest warmed with sudden feeling. He hadn't thought that he was doing badly, despite bringing up a few topics that he should've stayed away from in retrospect. But to hear Amber affirm that his being here meant something to her felt so much more meaningful than her words alone. He stood up at Kate's announcement and took both of Amber's hands in his as she got up too. Wanting to share his sudden happiness, he leaned in to kiss her softly, his lips moving gently across hers. Maybe this was the question finally answered--why she wanted him here. He'd been worried about being a block to her mother's questions about when she was going to settle down, or worse, proof that she wasn't bound to her family's values and expectations. But the way she'd answered so quickly, without having to think about it, and the warmth in her eyes as she'd accepted his touch, was more than reassurance. It was a reminder of the tenderness between them, the gentleness, the warmth. "I love you," Foreman murmured in Amber's ear, letting everyone else leave the room first.

"Trust me, I've figured that out," he said as he pulled back. Kate would expect them not to keep the food waiting now that she'd decided to serve. His hand in Amber's, Foreman followed her into the dining room, and following an impulse he'd been suppressing around her far too much, he pulled out her chair for her. He knew it wasn't something Amber looked for, or even wanted, most of the time, but he couldn't help expressing his feelings the way he'd been taught, in small gestures of consideration for her.

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