November 1, 2007

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

The Diagnostics conference room hadn't changed, but filling it with six eager, contentious doctors made it seem much smaller. Foreman couldn't imagine what had possibly brought them here. Did they think House's reputation as a doctor outweighed his reputation as the worst department head in the country to work for? Did they think there would be some sort of glory in playing the part of the man's lackey, without even knowing if they'd get the job? House was playing games again, dangling a future and a career in front of these people.

Foreman ignored their looks. They were here by their own choice. He wasn't going to warn them. He doubted any of them expected to get the rug pulled out from under them at the last minute. Even he'd been naive enough to assume that House wouldn't stop him from leaving. One sabotaged interview was all it took, and he knew that it wasn't going to be easy to escape Princeton-Plainsboro.

He'd still never expected to be back. He poured himself a coffee and glared around him, trying to put as much stand-offishness into his posture as he could. They knew he was Cuddy's spy. Nobody wanted to start a conversation.

That was fine with him. Foreman shook his head at himself, crossed his arms, and stared out the window. It was the same old balcony and the same old view. He'd never felt so trapped.

A minute later, House opened the door from his office. He stopped short and blinked at his six applicants--playthings--as if he'd never seen any of them before, and then started barking out orders.

Comments

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House freely let a smirk pull across his face as Foreman gritted his teeth, only vaguely disappointed when Foreman seemed to get a grip of himself--try, at least. He kept his eyes on Foreman, watching him turn and swipe his tennis ball, staying silent. It was too bad Foreman held his tongue and ignored House's bait; House was half-waiting for Foreman to explode with fury, hoping for it, but Foreman seemed to be thinking, not fuming. Too fucking bad. If Foreman thought that House didn't have the balls to push even harder--bug him, harass him, interfere with his job, his life--he was wrong.

He was about to dish out a few extra insults, opening his mouth when Foreman turned around. When Foreman leaned close, his hand diving into his pocket, House's mouth stayed open, and his lips moved, but no words made it out. House tried not to twitch as Foreman's hand brushed his side, and he made sure to wear a hardened expression when Foreman stood up and spoke.

Damn it. Sometimes he hated when Foreman had a good idea, even more when a grin tugged at his mouth before he could hide it. He liked the idea, damn it; he still got to mess with his new kids, even after the case was solved. Throw mind-fucking on the table, and Foreman knew he'd be hard pressed to refuse. "I'll gather the troops," he said, after a long pause. "Now get the hell out of my personal space and treat the damn kid." He made no move to stand up from his chair. He'd have a good fifteen minutes before the treatment was started and he had to show up in the lecture hall. "Or I might start to think you've got a thing for me."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman answered House's grin with one of his own. He couldn't believe it had been that easy: he'd diverted House's attention from his own weak spots, he'd encouraged House to treat their patient, and he'd escaped being blamed by the candidates for coming up with a diagnosis they should have seen a mile away. He twirled the marker through his fingers. House wasn't the only one with manual dexterity. The manipulative bastard was obviously already on board with the idea of tormenting his playing pieces even further, though. House had tried to compose his face into his usual frown, but he'd already given himself away.

Foreman was already on his way out the door when House told him to start the treatment, but House's last words stopped him short. He rolled his eyes as expressively as he could to hide his hesitation. If the black jokes and the experimental pokes at Foreman's medical skills weren't getting through, then of course House would try a different tack. That's all it was. Four years, and House didn't have any clue about what he might actually make a legitimate joke about. Foreman was going to keep it that way.

The important thing was that their patient was going to get the treatment he needed. Foreman shook his head and laughed to himself as he paged the fellows to House's lecture hall. He probably shouldn't be...but he was already looking forward to the looks on their faces when House ripped into them.

It was a long way from his first first day in Diagnostics. Foreman knew that this time, at least, it wouldn't be boring.