House squinted at Foreman, as if each time Foreman bit into his sandwich, he was upping a challenge. He was hungry, but it could wait; this wasn't the time for a casual lunch. He was starting to feel the itch for some semblance of normalcy, and this was definitely not it. Not right now, and he hadn't suggested that Foreman break it by parading around his office with his shirt, either. "I didn't say to wave it around like a damn flag." It didn't make him feel any more at ease when Foreman said he would come back to return the shirt. House knew that, despite all this, he'd probably be okay with Foreman back here, but maybe not today, and--Fuck, he didn't really want to think about it.
He moved on to Foreman's question instead. "There are cabs in this town, unless you forgot about that." It was partly how this whole thing started or, at least, accelerated. Didn't want to think about that either. House's mind buzzed, trying to think of a reasonable way to accomplish what he wanted at one time and, with a glance into his living room, he realized he needed to stop waiting for Foreman to agree to something. He'd accomplish more if Foreman was the one on edge.
"But, you know what?" House asked, abandoning the effort to muscle Foreman out of his apartment. There was more than one way he could make Foreman leave, even if he had to leave himself. He walked toward the door and put on the nearest pair of sneakers before fishing around inside Foreman's jacket, which was draped neatly over his desk chair. When he found Foreman's keys, he straightened up and held them aloft, jangling them as he looked in Foreman's direction. "This way's better. I'll get my clothes back before we get to work."
With a smug grin, House turned and started for the door. If Foreman didn't want him to drive--and he'd make sure he gave Foreman a heart attack if he did--then he'd have to get the hell out of his apartment and beat him to the car.
no subject
He moved on to Foreman's question instead. "There are cabs in this town, unless you forgot about that." It was partly how this whole thing started or, at least, accelerated. Didn't want to think about that either. House's mind buzzed, trying to think of a reasonable way to accomplish what he wanted at one time and, with a glance into his living room, he realized he needed to stop waiting for Foreman to agree to something. He'd accomplish more if Foreman was the one on edge.
"But, you know what?" House asked, abandoning the effort to muscle Foreman out of his apartment. There was more than one way he could make Foreman leave, even if he had to leave himself. He walked toward the door and put on the nearest pair of sneakers before fishing around inside Foreman's jacket, which was draped neatly over his desk chair. When he found Foreman's keys, he straightened up and held them aloft, jangling them as he looked in Foreman's direction. "This way's better. I'll get my clothes back before we get to work."
With a smug grin, House turned and started for the door. If Foreman didn't want him to drive--and he'd make sure he gave Foreman a heart attack if he did--then he'd have to get the hell out of his apartment and beat him to the car.