Foreman ground his teeth when House stole his wineglass and took a proprietary gulp. House's stare was hostile, but Foreman was not going to admit he'd been wrong to come here. Wrong not to tell House. He didn't need to be fucking ambushed to be reminded that he and House were together; Wilson might shine that shit from House and call it friendship, but Foreman wouldn't.
Because you think you're the center of the fucking universe, he thought viciously, half-wishing House could read his thoughts. Foreman wasn't going to say it out loud--he wasn't going to let loose half of what he was thinking. They didn't need to make a scene, certainly not in front of Marty. "I'm sorry," Foreman told him tightly. And pointedly, for House's sake, "I didn't think I'd be needed tonight."
"If you two need to work something out--" Marty looked like he'd take any reason as an excuse to flee.
Foreman shook his head sharply. "It's not a problem." He glared at House. He wasn't going to abandon Marty now just because House showed up, probably expecting exactly that. "I'm sure House wasn't going to stay."
Foreman wanted to know how the fuck House had found him. He'd been more than careful this time. Nothing on his computer, which was password protected anyway. No messages saved on his cellphone--he'd even considered deleting Marty's contact information. He certainly hadn't written anything down, not the restaurant name, not the date, not the time, not the directions.
Foreman's gaze snapped to Marty. He'd called Foreman at home to leave new directions. Left a message. That was the only fucking way House could have found out--he'd been at Foreman's place. "You broke in to my apartment?" he demanded, forgetting to keep his voice low. Marty's eyes widened, but Foreman ignored him, keeping his glare trained on House.
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Because you think you're the center of the fucking universe, he thought viciously, half-wishing House could read his thoughts. Foreman wasn't going to say it out loud--he wasn't going to let loose half of what he was thinking. They didn't need to make a scene, certainly not in front of Marty. "I'm sorry," Foreman told him tightly. And pointedly, for House's sake, "I didn't think I'd be needed tonight."
"If you two need to work something out--" Marty looked like he'd take any reason as an excuse to flee.
Foreman shook his head sharply. "It's not a problem." He glared at House. He wasn't going to abandon Marty now just because House showed up, probably expecting exactly that. "I'm sure House wasn't going to stay."
Foreman wanted to know how the fuck House had found him. He'd been more than careful this time. Nothing on his computer, which was password protected anyway. No messages saved on his cellphone--he'd even considered deleting Marty's contact information. He certainly hadn't written anything down, not the restaurant name, not the date, not the time, not the directions.
Foreman's gaze snapped to Marty. He'd called Foreman at home to leave new directions. Left a message. That was the only fucking way House could have found out--he'd been at Foreman's place. "You broke in to my apartment?" he demanded, forgetting to keep his voice low. Marty's eyes widened, but Foreman ignored him, keeping his glare trained on House.