Foreman's eyes widened at the sight of his CV on the laptop's screen. He'd forgotten to shut it down when he'd left for the bar. The last thing on his mind had been password security. At that point, he'd been thinking that if he never saw House again after practically assaulting him, it would be too soon. Escape had been a knee-jerk reaction. He'd only been thinking of finding a job that wouldn't involve coming out at work--because kissing House had meant, inevitably, that everyone would find out. Wilson first, then the fellow candidates, then Cuddy, Cameron, and Chase--and from there, the rest of Princeton-Plainsboro's well-developed gossip chain. The idea of taking a job where he'd be practicing medicine, rather than all his crash-course-acquired techniques of House-wrangling, had also been on his mind. But it was futile, he knew. Even the email he'd sent to Marty Hamilton had been mostly explorative; the very idea of going back to California, of admitting defeat, had nagged at him even as he was sending it.
Not that House deserved to know any of that. He was the reason Foreman had been thinking about running away, as if he wasn't adult enough, responsible enough, to face his own problems. "You're not my boss," Foreman said dismissively. Cuddy had hired him, and Foreman was damn glad of it. At least it removed one of the problems with sleeping with House, even if there were a million others that were worse. "And you were so helpful last time, of course you'd be the first to know."
Foreman shook his head, resisting the urge to rub the sleep out of his eyes. It didn't make sense that House was angry. It wasn't even a secret Foreman had been trying to keep--those emails were five hours old at most, and he and House had certainly had better things on their minds in the meanwhile. He thought House would've been happy to see the back of him, if it meant House could avoid the fact that they'd had sex. A flush of arousal moved through Foreman at the memory, as he realized that they were both wearing nothing but their boxers, that they were arguing while nearly naked. God, all he really wanted was to go back to bed, and he wasn't even against dragging House back there with him. "It's none of your business," he said, anger still bleeding through his tone. Exhaustion really was setting in, if he thought things like personal boundaries would stop House. "I'm not one of your minions, so you can keep your damn hands off my computer."
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Not that House deserved to know any of that. He was the reason Foreman had been thinking about running away, as if he wasn't adult enough, responsible enough, to face his own problems. "You're not my boss," Foreman said dismissively. Cuddy had hired him, and Foreman was damn glad of it. At least it removed one of the problems with sleeping with House, even if there were a million others that were worse. "And you were so helpful last time, of course you'd be the first to know."
Foreman shook his head, resisting the urge to rub the sleep out of his eyes. It didn't make sense that House was angry. It wasn't even a secret Foreman had been trying to keep--those emails were five hours old at most, and he and House had certainly had better things on their minds in the meanwhile. He thought House would've been happy to see the back of him, if it meant House could avoid the fact that they'd had sex. A flush of arousal moved through Foreman at the memory, as he realized that they were both wearing nothing but their boxers, that they were arguing while nearly naked. God, all he really wanted was to go back to bed, and he wasn't even against dragging House back there with him. "It's none of your business," he said, anger still bleeding through his tone. Exhaustion really was setting in, if he thought things like personal boundaries would stop House. "I'm not one of your minions, so you can keep your damn hands off my computer."