When the elevator doors opened, House stepped into the car and immediately leaned against the wall near the button panel and pressed the button for the fourth floor. He had his head bowed toward the floor, his hand rubbing along his thigh to warm his hand and calm the tension in his leg. But he raised his head when Foreman spoke, meeting his eyes from the opposite corner of the car.
"That's not it," House said, peering at Foreman, studying him in an effort to puzzle through his actions. His anger hadn't disappeared--not even close, still simmering underneath his skin--and it only frustrated him more when Foreman offered no real answers. All Foreman had been doing was pushing him, and House had been focused on escaping. Now that his own escape had been cut off, House had no other options but to push on his own. He barely had the energy for it, and he wasn't thinking as clearly as he wanted to be for this--he hesitated to call it a 'fight', but it was more than a casual conversation.
It seemed as though Foreman had stopped making aggressive moves--given up, just like House thought he would--and was opting for mind-fucking, vague remarks instead. House felt confused, hardly sure of the point of this anymore. Foreman was wearing him the fuck out, and it was becoming hard to stay ahead of him; his casual remark, however, tipped House into fuzzy, foggy confusion, the anger still working its way to the surface. He threw his hand out in a wild gesture, and said, his voice already rising, "Letting you win what? The keep-away contest? If you haven't noticed, I don't exactly have the physical advantage. I wouldn't take too much satisfaction from it, unless you're the kind of guy who's proud of himself for beating up a ten-year-old."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-05 12:45 pm (UTC)"That's not it," House said, peering at Foreman, studying him in an effort to puzzle through his actions. His anger hadn't disappeared--not even close, still simmering underneath his skin--and it only frustrated him more when Foreman offered no real answers. All Foreman had been doing was pushing him, and House had been focused on escaping. Now that his own escape had been cut off, House had no other options but to push on his own. He barely had the energy for it, and he wasn't thinking as clearly as he wanted to be for this--he hesitated to call it a 'fight', but it was more than a casual conversation.
It seemed as though Foreman had stopped making aggressive moves--given up, just like House thought he would--and was opting for mind-fucking, vague remarks instead. House felt confused, hardly sure of the point of this anymore. Foreman was wearing him the fuck out, and it was becoming hard to stay ahead of him; his casual remark, however, tipped House into fuzzy, foggy confusion, the anger still working its way to the surface. He threw his hand out in a wild gesture, and said, his voice already rising, "Letting you win what? The keep-away contest? If you haven't noticed, I don't exactly have the physical advantage. I wouldn't take too much satisfaction from it, unless you're the kind of guy who's proud of himself for beating up a ten-year-old."