"Not physically," House snapped. Foreman had been 'running away' all morning, keeping his distance, absorbing all of House's taunts. When Foreman had volleyed, he had returned House's insults and comments with a casual lob, not a direct fire. In House's mind, it signaled Foreman's attempt to avoid him, and it made him feel satisfied to know that he wasn't the only one avoiding the issue. Sure, he'd outed Foreman, but knowing how Foreman would respond, it hadn't exactly been an attack, just a way to confirm Foreman's insistence to avoid all of it, dismiss it as quickly as possible.
It also didn't surprise him that Foreman began shooting down all of his rejections or, at least, his justifications for his rejections, as if he knew him. He felt tempted to tell Foreman that his insights hardly scratched the surface of all of his impressively complicated layers, that Foreman would have to spend more time with him to discover what really made him tick. He might have if Foreman, in this case, wasn't actually right. Foreman's reasons weren't right, though, which gave House a small spark of satisfaction, and he corrected Foreman, explaining the draw of a thank-you-in-race-car-form, purposefully leaving out any direct refute about his heatstroke theory. When House had initially glanced over the file, heatstroke was the first diagnosis that came to mind, and he figured that, all race car rewards aside, it would be interesting to see if the new bunch could think in simple terms as well as complex ones. He would possibly get to escape home early if the fellows were fast enough about it.
He was contemplating on ways to spend his evening--possibly drunk, sprawled on his couch, not jerking off, and not thinking of Foreman--when a guy walked into the lecture hall. House searched his brain in a hurry, trying to think of patients, parents of patients, any of the guys he'd ever slept with, any of the guys he now suspected Foreman might have slept with. Nobody came to mind. When the guy addressed him, he stalled for time, but felt all at once intrigued and wary that this guy apparently came armed with an enlarged copy of his drivers license photograph.
He glanced at Foreman, silently trying to determine if he'd had anything to do with this, if this was even for real. If it wasn't for real, there was always the possibility that Foreman had arranged for a male stripper to show up just to see how he'd react. No. Wasn't quite Foreman's style, but it would be fun to play along with that idea, to mess with either Foreman or the fellows.
As he stood from his seat, he instructed the fellows to arrive at a number of brilliant diagnoses by the time he returned. Despite all the attention he'd placed on Foreman so far, House still wanted to execute his test of the fellows, but he didn't have much confidence that they'd focus while he was meeting with whoever this suit was in the hallway. Foreman would be the best choice to get shit done. Besides, once they were alone with him, they might hit him with personal questions. So, hoping that the fellows would rip into him once he left, he turned and pointed at Foreman. "You're in charge."
no subject
It also didn't surprise him that Foreman began shooting down all of his rejections or, at least, his justifications for his rejections, as if he knew him. He felt tempted to tell Foreman that his insights hardly scratched the surface of all of his impressively complicated layers, that Foreman would have to spend more time with him to discover what really made him tick. He might have if Foreman, in this case, wasn't actually right. Foreman's reasons weren't right, though, which gave House a small spark of satisfaction, and he corrected Foreman, explaining the draw of a thank-you-in-race-car-form, purposefully leaving out any direct refute about his heatstroke theory. When House had initially glanced over the file, heatstroke was the first diagnosis that came to mind, and he figured that, all race car rewards aside, it would be interesting to see if the new bunch could think in simple terms as well as complex ones. He would possibly get to escape home early if the fellows were fast enough about it.
He was contemplating on ways to spend his evening--possibly drunk, sprawled on his couch, not jerking off, and not thinking of Foreman--when a guy walked into the lecture hall. House searched his brain in a hurry, trying to think of patients, parents of patients, any of the guys he'd ever slept with, any of the guys he now suspected Foreman might have slept with. Nobody came to mind. When the guy addressed him, he stalled for time, but felt all at once intrigued and wary that this guy apparently came armed with an enlarged copy of his drivers license photograph.
He glanced at Foreman, silently trying to determine if he'd had anything to do with this, if this was even for real. If it wasn't for real, there was always the possibility that Foreman had arranged for a male stripper to show up just to see how he'd react. No. Wasn't quite Foreman's style, but it would be fun to play along with that idea, to mess with either Foreman or the fellows.
As he stood from his seat, he instructed the fellows to arrive at a number of brilliant diagnoses by the time he returned. Despite all the attention he'd placed on Foreman so far, House still wanted to execute his test of the fellows, but he didn't have much confidence that they'd focus while he was meeting with whoever this suit was in the hallway. Foreman would be the best choice to get shit done. Besides, once they were alone with him, they might hit him with personal questions. So, hoping that the fellows would rip into him once he left, he turned and pointed at Foreman. "You're in charge."