House rolled his eyes at Foreman's advice, crumpling up his messages and putting them in his coat pocket to throw away later, but looked sharply at Foreman a moment later, studying him, trying to determine if he was actually serious. A part of him wanted Foreman to be serious, but another part--the part that was winning--didn't even want to think about it, but his mind rebelled, mulling over the words.
He chose to argue semantics, focusing on something far less significant than Foreman's actual meaning, whether he was serious or not. "You're confusing persistence with patience, and you might be persistent, but you're not patient," House said, certain that he was right, using his cane to tap the elevator call button. Foreman had about as much patience as he did, with patients, doctors, people in general. Sure, Foreman had more tact, but tact wouldn't get him any farther with House than persistence would.
As they stood by the elevator, House tried to peek at Foreman's messages, but Foreman slipped them into his pocket before he could catch a glimpse. Who would be giving Foreman messages? Cuddy, probably, assigning Foreman secret missions--'make House take this case', or 'make sure Kutner doesn't set anyone on fire', or 'don't let House risk the patient's life, even if he's probably right'--as if she was some sort of M to Foreman's James Bond. The image made House grin to himself for a moment--Foreman sitting at a bar in a suit, sipping martinis--and he wondered what it would take to get Foreman drunk enough to start introducing himself as 'Foreman, Eric Foreman'. On second thought, Foreman would make the most uptight Bond-wannabe ever, and House would rather leave it to the pros. The elevator opened, and, letting his grin fade, House stepped inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor before Foreman even stepped on with him, assuming he would. Assuming one of his messages didn't send him somewhere more important.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-01-10 09:11 am (UTC)He chose to argue semantics, focusing on something far less significant than Foreman's actual meaning, whether he was serious or not. "You're confusing persistence with patience, and you might be persistent, but you're not patient," House said, certain that he was right, using his cane to tap the elevator call button. Foreman had about as much patience as he did, with patients, doctors, people in general. Sure, Foreman had more tact, but tact wouldn't get him any farther with House than persistence would.
As they stood by the elevator, House tried to peek at Foreman's messages, but Foreman slipped them into his pocket before he could catch a glimpse. Who would be giving Foreman messages? Cuddy, probably, assigning Foreman secret missions--'make House take this case', or 'make sure Kutner doesn't set anyone on fire', or 'don't let House risk the patient's life, even if he's probably right'--as if she was some sort of M to Foreman's James Bond. The image made House grin to himself for a moment--Foreman sitting at a bar in a suit, sipping martinis--and he wondered what it would take to get Foreman drunk enough to start introducing himself as 'Foreman, Eric Foreman'. On second thought, Foreman would make the most uptight Bond-wannabe ever, and House would rather leave it to the pros. The elevator opened, and, letting his grin fade, House stepped inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor before Foreman even stepped on with him, assuming he would. Assuming one of his messages didn't send him somewhere more important.