"She doesn't have to believe it," he said, as if Foreman was some kind of moron. "All threats must be taken seriously. There's protocol. Police responses, paperwork." Cuddy's schedule will be thrown off course until the afternoon. She'll be frustrated long after the ordeal was over. Too bad he couldn't watch it all unfold. Well, he could, but Foreman would ruin his fun, he was sure.
His eyes followed Foreman's coffee mug as it rose to his lips. He could smell the coffee's aroma, and it made his mouth salivate. He had a cup earlier, but another would tip the discomfort in his bladder from 'tolerably full' to 'piss-his-pants-at-the-sound-of-dripping-water full', and he couldn't exactly make a sprint for the bathroom. Damn, he could use a cup, though. He tapped his cane on the carpet to expel some energy, then reached into his pocket, fishing for his bottle of Vicodin--if he couldn't have one drug, he'd have another. He opened the lid, tossed back a pill, and slipped the bottle back into his pocket, aware of Foreman's eyes on him. He took a smug pleasure in that knowledge, and didn't bother letting it show as he tipped his head down to look Foreman in the face.
He let the silence linger for a moment before answering Foreman's question. "I'm shocked you actually have to ask that question. Would've thought you'd be all over my business. That's your job, isn't it?"
His case, at the moment, was on hold, waiting for test results. Kutner and Taub would be back by the time results came in, and he was certain he'd be able to harass (or guilt, if he tried hard enough) into handling any crisis that arose in the meantime. He wasn't concerned. Not about that, anyway.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-09-30 04:39 am (UTC)His eyes followed Foreman's coffee mug as it rose to his lips. He could smell the coffee's aroma, and it made his mouth salivate. He had a cup earlier, but another would tip the discomfort in his bladder from 'tolerably full' to 'piss-his-pants-at-the-sound-of-dripping-water full', and he couldn't exactly make a sprint for the bathroom. Damn, he could use a cup, though. He tapped his cane on the carpet to expel some energy, then reached into his pocket, fishing for his bottle of Vicodin--if he couldn't have one drug, he'd have another. He opened the lid, tossed back a pill, and slipped the bottle back into his pocket, aware of Foreman's eyes on him. He took a smug pleasure in that knowledge, and didn't bother letting it show as he tipped his head down to look Foreman in the face.
He let the silence linger for a moment before answering Foreman's question. "I'm shocked you actually have to ask that question. Would've thought you'd be all over my business. That's your job, isn't it?"
His case, at the moment, was on hold, waiting for test results. Kutner and Taub would be back by the time results came in, and he was certain he'd be able to harass (or guilt, if he tried hard enough) into handling any crisis that arose in the meantime. He wasn't concerned. Not about that, anyway.