alwaysright | November 28th, 2007

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.

Threaded | Flat

Foreman was pacing.

His bags were by the door--only two of them, one with his best suit, freshly dry-cleaned, and the other with general clothing and toiletries, his usual shaving kit for travelling, and a few journals that he could reasonably excuse as "work reading" if he desperately needed to get away from a social situation. Sometimes it worked out better that way. They'd want a chance to talk about him, and he'd be happy enough to give it to them.

Foreman hadn't been this tense before presenting his last major conference paper. Hell, the job interviews he'd been through, even the ones after it became clear that he'd been blacklisted, hadn't felt like he might be facing the door of a torture chamber rather than another Dean of Medicine's tastefully decorated office. He'd be able to keep his cool once he was standing in front of the firing squad, but in the few moments of freedom he had left, he couldn't help giving in to the roiling knot in his stomach. Anger, nerves, resentment--it wasn't pleasant, and he knew it would be even worse if he inflicted any of it on Amber in the car.

His phone buzzed and Foreman actually flinched, rolling his eyes at himself a second later. Amber's text sounded sharp an clear; he wouldn't be off the hook with her either. God, why had he agreed to this? Why had he not only let himself be led to the slaughter, but volunteered to go?

Because Amber's family was important to her. Because he could see he was losing points in her eyes the second he reacted badly to her invitation. Because he was trying to prove something--yeah, like he'd been trying to prove something ever since he'd gotten fired. That he was still worthy of some damn respect, no matter what source it ultimately came from. He was kidding himself if he thought he'd get recognition from Cuddy or House for doing his damn job, but surely Amber's family would have to soften and admit he was a good choice, the right choice, for their daughter, no matter what they thought of his skin colour.

Grabbing his bags, Foreman headed out the door, locking it behind him. He'd wait downstairs; at least there he wouldn't let himself pace, since he might be seen. It was time to start closing down, shutting off any avenues people might have of getting to him. Public scrutiny was what he was in for, so it might as well start now.

Once he was outside the building, Foreman stamped to warm his feet, and blew through his hands, waiting for Amber to pull up in the loading zone in front of him.

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