The fellows, though, knew that House would do anything to humiliate Foreman. House had already proved that, had said outright that it was his goal to get rid of Foreman by whatever means necessary. The fact that House was telling the truth--for certain definitions of true--was beside the point. Foreman forced himself to smile, and this time he did look at the fellows, including them in his skepticism. "Would that rumour be anything like the Mayonnaise Panic of '08?" he asked. "Because you got a lot more play out of the food poisoning, House." Foreman let a hint of a sneer show, as if he was sorry House's lies weren't up to his usual standard. "This one doesn't even waste our time." Foreman kept his eyes on House. He had no problem implying that his weekend had been a waste of time--a mistake. If that was what would hurt, then that's what he would use.
Foreman sat back, crossing his arms, when House moved off towards his food and seemed so suddenly interested in patient care. Foreman was just fine with moving on; that was supposed to be his job, to keep House on track. He'd been failing dismally so far. He hoped the cases House had gathered actually had something to recommend them.
"Uh--I got a forty-year-old male, apnea, joint pain, and writhing spasms," Kutner said, reading from his chart, sounding particularly impressed by the last symptom. Foreman shook his head. Probably rheumatic fever. Where the hell had House gotten these cases from? He'd order penicillin and bedrest: even the treatment was boring.
"Was this the best you could do?" he muttered, mainly for House's ears. "What happened to ducking work until Cuddy hunted you down?" He opened his book, prepared to ignore the rest of the differential. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were distracted."
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2008-12-02 08:19 pm (UTC)Foreman sat back, crossing his arms, when House moved off towards his food and seemed so suddenly interested in patient care. Foreman was just fine with moving on; that was supposed to be his job, to keep House on track. He'd been failing dismally so far. He hoped the cases House had gathered actually had something to recommend them.
"Uh--I got a forty-year-old male, apnea, joint pain, and writhing spasms," Kutner said, reading from his chart, sounding particularly impressed by the last symptom. Foreman shook his head. Probably rheumatic fever. Where the hell had House gotten these cases from? He'd order penicillin and bedrest: even the treatment was boring.
"Was this the best you could do?" he muttered, mainly for House's ears. "What happened to ducking work until Cuddy hunted you down?" He opened his book, prepared to ignore the rest of the differential. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were distracted."