House raised his hand to let it fall with a slap against his thigh, scoffing at Foreman's remark, pretending the reference to Foreman's resignation didn't sting, ignoring it. Foreman was right; House wasn't Foreman's boss, but Foreman wasn't his equal, either. It was still his department, and he had a right to know who stayed and who left, involuntarily or not, especially when that 'who' had just attacked him with a kiss, then had very eager, enthusiastic--hot, his brain echoed--sex with him. He know he shouldn't care, because, if roles had been reversed, House never would have supplied a reason, but now House felt entitled to one, staring at Foreman as if it would intimidate a reason out of him. "Oh, right," House said, sneering, inching closer to Foreman, "you're Cuddy's lapdog."
When Foreman was less of a watchdog and more of a doctor, Foreman was an asset, helped House's thought process. Foreman hardly ever agreed with him, continually fought him and pushed his thoughts in new directions, down new avenues. The new bunch were so focused on keeping their jobs that none of them seemed to have the guts to make any kind of push, and, in the midst of it, Foreman was actually refreshing. But when Foreman started pussyfooting around him, House couldn't conjure up any respect for him, didn't want to work with him. Foreman was no good to him as a doormat.
Still, House wasn't sure why this had surprised him. Foreman had a history of running, running from his upbringing, his family, running from mistakes, from anything Foreman feared to become--him, apparently. When Foreman had resigned, he had been running from him, and that knowledge hadn't been flattering. He'd been convinced that whatever he had to say wouldn't affect Foreman's decision to leave, and he'd pretended to be unaffected by it when he'd been right. It hadn't mattered. Now, House was sure that it still wouldn't matter, and was just as convinced that Foreman's choice to explore his job options was because of him. Again. It still wasn't flattering; it seemed worse. He knew it shouldn't, but it did. Last time had felt personal, but this, the two of them face-to-face, more than half-naked, and Foreman ready to run again, felt more personal.
It was ridiculous that it felt anything at all. House knew he should be glad for the opportunity to dismiss it all, take his easy out, torment Foreman until he fled to another job. He would never be forced to address anything, because it hardly had a consequence. He didn't want a change, at least not one he couldn't control, but Foreman was being more dramatic than him, turning tail and fleeing to an entirely different state, based on the documents that glowed on Foreman's laptop. It didn't suit him.
House glared at Foreman, his lips tightening and eyes narrowing in the faintly lit room as Foreman said that none of this was his business, to keep out of it. "My department, my business," House hissed, lurching across the room with as much speed and force as he could, walking without his cane and always coming down hard on his left leg, bare foot slapping on bare wood. "What did you tell Cuddy? Having second thoughts? Kissed your boss"--House used the word just to piss Foreman off, stepping closer to Foreman, able to feel body heat, the fabric of their shorts almost touching, just to make him as uncomfortable, or alternatively, as turned-on as possible--"and can't deal? Or the truth, that you're a coward?"
Turning slowly, House started back towards the desk. He hadn't checked out Foreman's 'sent' folder and he was interested to rub Foreman's face in his own bullshit. "Let's see," House said without looking at Foreman, nearing the laptop.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-11-29 10:29 pm (UTC)When Foreman was less of a watchdog and more of a doctor, Foreman was an asset, helped House's thought process. Foreman hardly ever agreed with him, continually fought him and pushed his thoughts in new directions, down new avenues. The new bunch were so focused on keeping their jobs that none of them seemed to have the guts to make any kind of push, and, in the midst of it, Foreman was actually refreshing. But when Foreman started pussyfooting around him, House couldn't conjure up any respect for him, didn't want to work with him. Foreman was no good to him as a doormat.
Still, House wasn't sure why this had surprised him. Foreman had a history of running, running from his upbringing, his family, running from mistakes, from anything Foreman feared to become--him, apparently. When Foreman had resigned, he had been running from him, and that knowledge hadn't been flattering. He'd been convinced that whatever he had to say wouldn't affect Foreman's decision to leave, and he'd pretended to be unaffected by it when he'd been right. It hadn't mattered. Now, House was sure that it still wouldn't matter, and was just as convinced that Foreman's choice to explore his job options was because of him. Again. It still wasn't flattering; it seemed worse. He knew it shouldn't, but it did. Last time had felt personal, but this, the two of them face-to-face, more than half-naked, and Foreman ready to run again, felt more personal.
It was ridiculous that it felt anything at all. House knew he should be glad for the opportunity to dismiss it all, take his easy out, torment Foreman until he fled to another job. He would never be forced to address anything, because it hardly had a consequence. He didn't want a change, at least not one he couldn't control, but Foreman was being more dramatic than him, turning tail and fleeing to an entirely different state, based on the documents that glowed on Foreman's laptop. It didn't suit him.
House glared at Foreman, his lips tightening and eyes narrowing in the faintly lit room as Foreman said that none of this was his business, to keep out of it. "My department, my business," House hissed, lurching across the room with as much speed and force as he could, walking without his cane and always coming down hard on his left leg, bare foot slapping on bare wood. "What did you tell Cuddy? Having second thoughts? Kissed your boss"--House used the word just to piss Foreman off, stepping closer to Foreman, able to feel body heat, the fabric of their shorts almost touching, just to make him as uncomfortable, or alternatively, as turned-on as possible--"and can't deal? Or the truth, that you're a coward?"
Turning slowly, House started back towards the desk. He hadn't checked out Foreman's 'sent' folder and he was interested to rub Foreman's face in his own bullshit. "Let's see," House said without looking at Foreman, nearing the laptop.