For House, few things could put an interesting case on 'pause'. Mind-numbing pain. A gem of personal information about Wilson, Cuddy, one of his wet-behind-the-ears, ass-kissing fellowship candidates. Today, it was Agent Foreman, once a doctor; now, doctor-turned-kowtowing-spy. House didn't like it. He'd already had a taste of "boss Foreman", and he'd been a pain in the ass. He needed to lose the spy.
House tapped a pen against his desk, leaning forward to try to peek into the conference room, sitting back when he couldn't see anyone besides Kutner, playing with his shoelace. He guessed that nobody was talking, reluctant to talk around Cuddy's appointed errand boy.
This was Cuddy's fault. Foreman's, too, for being stupid enough to come crawling back, but mostly Cuddy's. Foreman already seemed miserable enough with the situation, so making him even more miserable wouldn't accomplish all that much. Plus, Foreman would expect it, some sort of retaliation. He already identified this place, as far as House could tell, with a living, inescapable hell, so proving that it was wouldn't do him much good, and he wasn't about to go proving Foreman right. So he'd have to make Cuddy miserable instead. Frustrate her, antagonize her, until she caved and pulled her spy from enemy territory.
Making up his mind to launch a personal campaign against Cuddy, he stood up and made his way into the conference room, stopping a few feet into the room. He kept his eyes far away from Foreman. "You four," he said, swept his cane through the air, pointing at all the hopefuls on the right side of the table, "go take care of my dry cleaning. It's back in my office." He nodded to Kutner. "You, go tell Cuddy that--" He pointed his cane back down to the floor, squinting with thought. "Would a bomb threat be too much?" House shrugged. "Who knows, maybe we'll all go home early." Another point, this time at Taub. "And, you, get me some lunch."
He pointedly ignored Foreman until they shuffled out of the room, then took a seat at one end of the table. "You, me, together again. I'm getting misty-eyed with nostalgia."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-09-30 01:06 am (UTC)House tapped a pen against his desk, leaning forward to try to peek into the conference room, sitting back when he couldn't see anyone besides Kutner, playing with his shoelace. He guessed that nobody was talking, reluctant to talk around Cuddy's appointed errand boy.
This was Cuddy's fault. Foreman's, too, for being stupid enough to come crawling back, but mostly Cuddy's. Foreman already seemed miserable enough with the situation, so making him even more miserable wouldn't accomplish all that much. Plus, Foreman would expect it, some sort of retaliation. He already identified this place, as far as House could tell, with a living, inescapable hell, so proving that it was wouldn't do him much good, and he wasn't about to go proving Foreman right. So he'd have to make Cuddy miserable instead. Frustrate her, antagonize her, until she caved and pulled her spy from enemy territory.
Making up his mind to launch a personal campaign against Cuddy, he stood up and made his way into the conference room, stopping a few feet into the room. He kept his eyes far away from Foreman. "You four," he said, swept his cane through the air, pointing at all the hopefuls on the right side of the table, "go take care of my dry cleaning. It's back in my office." He nodded to Kutner. "You, go tell Cuddy that--" He pointed his cane back down to the floor, squinting with thought. "Would a bomb threat be too much?" House shrugged. "Who knows, maybe we'll all go home early." Another point, this time at Taub. "And, you, get me some lunch."
He pointedly ignored Foreman until they shuffled out of the room, then took a seat at one end of the table. "You, me, together again. I'm getting misty-eyed with nostalgia."