November 9, 2008 - Overnight
Nov. 29th, 2008 03:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
house-greg-md.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wooedforyearsA raid, House decided. This called for a raid.
House slowly crept out of Foreman's bedroom, pausing in the hall to lean against the wall and step into his shorts, and made his way into the living room. Turning on a sleek, trendy table lamp, rolling his eyes at it, House peered around the room, keeping himself quiet. Nothing seemed out of place. Bookshelves were organized. DVDs and CDs just as organized. No stray papers lying around the coffee table, or end tables. It seemed, much to House's disappointment, entirely uninteresting.
With a sigh, House twisted in place, glancing over his shoulder and towards the hall, his eyes falling on a closed door on the opposite side of the bathroom. He'd taken a peek inside that room earlier, on his self-guided tour, but hadn't spent any time nosing through it. Now, a small grin pulling across his face, House headed towards it, anticipation already welling inside him. If Foreman kept anything incriminating, or interesting, House felt confident he would discover it in this room. His confidence didn't waver when House opened the door, quietly stepping inside the room, and found it just as orderly as the living room. This time, however, the glow of Foreman's open laptop called out to him, guiding him to the large cherry-wood desk like a bright shining beacon.
House felt almost giddy as he took a seat at Foreman's desk, sliding his finger over the laptop's mousepad to disable the screensaver. A quiet, disbelieving laugh danced up his throat when he scanned the screen, reading the titles of open documents and programs in the bottom toolbar. Jackpot. He never even had to search. He'd been sure he would have had more trouble, had been planning on taking a crack at guessing Foreman's password, searching through hidden files or folders. While he was sure that Foreman was harboring private material on his laptop, House found himself more than occupied already.
He clicked on Foreman's email first, browsing the list of senders. He was mildly disappointed to see that the inbox contained no personal messages; they were all professional, but it only took one message for his disappointment to fall away. He'd expected, however, that it would be replaced with amusement, not--for reasons House couldn't fully explain to himself--surprise, and hurt, and confusion. The most recent message--Foreman hadn't even read it yet--was from Cuddy, a response to a recommendation request Foreman had made today. This afternoon. After, House realized, Foreman had kissed him in the car. Feeling genuinely curious, but much less excited, House maximized several opened documents and felt his eyebrows furrow, his head shake gently.
An updated resume expanded to the desktop. A cover letter, addressed to a hospital in Chicago. Another one, addressed to one in California, to a Dr. Hamilton. Hamilton. The name tripped House's memory, and he glanced at Foreman's resume, finding the name there, under Foreman's residency. Fuck. Confusion swam through his head. As far as House knew, Foreman was content enough, had few other job options, and planned on sticking around. Not that he should care. He didn't care. He didn't. But the timing of it all made him suspicious. House sat back in the chair, closing the laptop. Had this, everything that had happened today, meant something to Foreman? Scared Foreman to a point that would propel him to leave? Quit? Again.
That thought unnerved him more than anything, because he shouldn't care. Today shouldn't have changed anything, but House found himself battling against a dull feeling of hurt in his chest. It shouldn't matter. Foreman had already left once, but he'd just gotten back--had kissed him, fucked him--and now he was planning to escape again. Away from him. It only seemed like a logical conclusion. Might have been a reason, House thought, that Foreman hadn't had any reservations about what they did tonight. Would make sense, even though House wasn't exactly crazy about that answer.
Questions burning in his brain, House began rifling through Foreman's desk drawers, looking for other pieces of evidence: job offers, a calendar, anything that might point to an answer. He wasn't careful about the noise he caused, opening and closing drawers loudly, shuffling through papers and folders, frustrated that he couldn't find much of anything worthwhile. Returning to the laptop, he began searching through the folders, looking for anything else that would hint as to why Foreman was making these plans. There had to be a reason for it, and if he couldn't find it, he'd have to pull it out of Foreman himself.
House slowly crept out of Foreman's bedroom, pausing in the hall to lean against the wall and step into his shorts, and made his way into the living room. Turning on a sleek, trendy table lamp, rolling his eyes at it, House peered around the room, keeping himself quiet. Nothing seemed out of place. Bookshelves were organized. DVDs and CDs just as organized. No stray papers lying around the coffee table, or end tables. It seemed, much to House's disappointment, entirely uninteresting.
With a sigh, House twisted in place, glancing over his shoulder and towards the hall, his eyes falling on a closed door on the opposite side of the bathroom. He'd taken a peek inside that room earlier, on his self-guided tour, but hadn't spent any time nosing through it. Now, a small grin pulling across his face, House headed towards it, anticipation already welling inside him. If Foreman kept anything incriminating, or interesting, House felt confident he would discover it in this room. His confidence didn't waver when House opened the door, quietly stepping inside the room, and found it just as orderly as the living room. This time, however, the glow of Foreman's open laptop called out to him, guiding him to the large cherry-wood desk like a bright shining beacon.
House felt almost giddy as he took a seat at Foreman's desk, sliding his finger over the laptop's mousepad to disable the screensaver. A quiet, disbelieving laugh danced up his throat when he scanned the screen, reading the titles of open documents and programs in the bottom toolbar. Jackpot. He never even had to search. He'd been sure he would have had more trouble, had been planning on taking a crack at guessing Foreman's password, searching through hidden files or folders. While he was sure that Foreman was harboring private material on his laptop, House found himself more than occupied already.
He clicked on Foreman's email first, browsing the list of senders. He was mildly disappointed to see that the inbox contained no personal messages; they were all professional, but it only took one message for his disappointment to fall away. He'd expected, however, that it would be replaced with amusement, not--for reasons House couldn't fully explain to himself--surprise, and hurt, and confusion. The most recent message--Foreman hadn't even read it yet--was from Cuddy, a response to a recommendation request Foreman had made today. This afternoon. After, House realized, Foreman had kissed him in the car. Feeling genuinely curious, but much less excited, House maximized several opened documents and felt his eyebrows furrow, his head shake gently.
An updated resume expanded to the desktop. A cover letter, addressed to a hospital in Chicago. Another one, addressed to one in California, to a Dr. Hamilton. Hamilton. The name tripped House's memory, and he glanced at Foreman's resume, finding the name there, under Foreman's residency. Fuck. Confusion swam through his head. As far as House knew, Foreman was content enough, had few other job options, and planned on sticking around. Not that he should care. He didn't care. He didn't. But the timing of it all made him suspicious. House sat back in the chair, closing the laptop. Had this, everything that had happened today, meant something to Foreman? Scared Foreman to a point that would propel him to leave? Quit? Again.
That thought unnerved him more than anything, because he shouldn't care. Today shouldn't have changed anything, but House found himself battling against a dull feeling of hurt in his chest. It shouldn't matter. Foreman had already left once, but he'd just gotten back--had kissed him, fucked him--and now he was planning to escape again. Away from him. It only seemed like a logical conclusion. Might have been a reason, House thought, that Foreman hadn't had any reservations about what they did tonight. Would make sense, even though House wasn't exactly crazy about that answer.
Questions burning in his brain, House began rifling through Foreman's desk drawers, looking for other pieces of evidence: job offers, a calendar, anything that might point to an answer. He wasn't careful about the noise he caused, opening and closing drawers loudly, shuffling through papers and folders, frustrated that he couldn't find much of anything worthwhile. Returning to the laptop, he began searching through the folders, looking for anything else that would hint as to why Foreman was making these plans. There had to be a reason for it, and if he couldn't find it, he'd have to pull it out of Foreman himself.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-02 12:30 am (UTC)Besides, he'd accomplished what he'd wanted and had gotten Foreman to admit something, even if it was an implied admission. Foreman wouldn't believe that what they'd done had been a mistake if he was currently so willing to fall back into bed with him. Either that, or Foreman was an idiot. In both cases, House had enough reason to avoid getting more involved in this, in Foreman, and felt a strong pull to leave before he did anything stupid, said anything stupid, made Foreman believe this actually meant anything more than impulsive--good, hot--sex.
"I'll leave the jerking off to you, then," House said, stepping back to pick up his shirt from the floor. He pulled it over his head before scooping up his socks and shoes. "I'm still going home."
no subject
Date: 2008-12-02 12:49 am (UTC)He let out an incredulous bark of laughter when House stepped back. Foreman stared, too baffled to even be angry immediately, as House stooped to grab his shirt and shoes. At first Foreman didn't believe that House was still intending to walk out. What the hell had he been doing with his hand down Foreman's shorts if he didn't intend to finish what he'd goddamn well started?
"So that's it?" he asked. "You ask me to tell you it's not a mistake, and when I do, you run away?" It was stating the very fucking obvious, but Foreman didn't give a rat's ass. He rolled his eyes and added, "Metaphorically."
God, if this wasn't just like House, to offer something and then yank it back, to take everything Foreman offered and call it crap, make it worthless. "What the hell do you want, House?" he demanded. He was fucking tired of being wrenched in twenty different directions at once. He didn't want the sex to mean a damn thing, he hadn't wanted to make this any more important than it had to be, and now he was left scrambling to keep up with House's so-called logic. "Because I think I deserve some kind of fucking clue."
no subject
Date: 2008-12-02 01:13 am (UTC)He didn't ask Foreman to tell him anything. He knew, and he just wanted to hear Foreman admit it. House hadn't counted on how all the implications of that admission would sound in his head, the thoughts it would produce, and it put a damper on the satisfaction he'd felt at drawing that small confession out of Foreman. As House leaned over to tie his shoe, fingers fumbling with the knot, he paused to narrow his eyes at Foreman, but refused to address the comment on his fleeing ability. If it was bait to start another fight, just to keep him there longer, House was determined not to fall for it.
He finished tying his shoes, stood up, and reached for his cane. "I want to go home." He rounded Foreman and headed for the door as quickly as he could, fishing his cell phone out of his coat pocket to dial a cab service to pick him up. He kept his back to the hallway, just in case Foreman decided to follow him out of the bedroom, and repeated the address Foreman had given to the driver in the car. He slipped his phone back into his pocket when he ended the call before shrugging on his coat. He wasn't going to hang around any longer than he had to; he'd rather wait outside and suck up the cold than stay here and get into a pointless discussion about what he wanted with Foreman.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-02 01:26 am (UTC)He followed House out into the hallway, just because he wanted to be sure that House actually found the right door and left as fast as possible. House kept his back to him, as if that meant that the argument was over. Foreman gave a disgusted sound, eyeing him and refusing to feel bad for House. Foreman was the one who'd been screwed over here; he was the one who'd actually said something, stood up for what he felt, even if it only resulted in House sucker-punching him.
"You're a coward," he said. "You think I didn't want to become you, and you're right. You think I didn't want to like you? You don't need to fucking worry."
Satisfied that House really was leaving, wasn't making some last-ditch ploy, Foreman shook his head one last time and headed back to the bedroom. He wasn't interested in watching House go.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-02 03:02 am (UTC)