House narrowed his eyes, squinting at Foreman when he replied. Didn't think I'd be needed tonight. So Foreman was still pissed off about what he'd done in the car, but House didn't have much time to think about that before Marty interjected. House was about to throw himself out of the booth and boot Marty's ass out the door himself, but Foreman responded first. Of course he'd want Marty to stay, and House to leave. For a moment, he stared at Foreman, saw gears turning in his head as if he were trying to figure something out, and another second later, it made sense.
House held Foreman's glare, not showing one hint that it had ruffled him. He gave Foreman another tight grin, thinking about his response--no way he was going to clue Foreman into the fact that he had a key now. "You should really think about added security. Anyone could have broken in. Someone, oh, I don't know, looking for a new plasma screen TV," House said, as if he'd just done Foreman a favor by proving how lax his locks were. "Hell, I did it, and I'm not even black."
House drained the rest of the wine, finishing it off with a loud lip-smack and satisfied, "Aah." He set the glass down and slid it across the table toward Foreman, a little to his right, leaving it up to him to catch it before it flew off the table and broke on the floor. Distraction launched like a torpedo, House turned to Marty, a false-friendly grin on his face. House wasn't sure he'd ever seen Marty so frazzled; the man was almost always composed to the point of driving House up a damn wall, but now he looked as though he were calculating a run for the door like it was a prison break. "So Marty," he said, "what brings you so far from L.A., if it's not to poach on other people's territory?"
Marty pressed himself a little harder against the seat, and House wondered how far he'd have to push before Marty ended up in Foreman's fucking lap, and if Foreman would even push him away. "My wife's in-laws invited us over for the holidays and--"
"In-laws, right," House said, not keeping the disbelief out of his voice. "Need time away? A reprieve from the same-old-same-old?" The question wasn't without its implications, and House didn't try to hide them. Marty's uncomfortable, nervous laugh made House move in even closer, force Marty into Foreman's space even more. "Torturous small talk with your in-laws isn't worth the same piece of ass"--House's eyes flickered to Foreman--"right? Why not go for something--"
"Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you ready to order?" A damn waiter cut House off, and House slid back into his part of the booth and straightened up.
House shot the waiter a glare, hoping the idiot would take the hint and make this as quick as possible. "New York strip," House said, blurting out the first common menu item that came to mind before Foreman could jump in and stop him. "Medium-rare. And some more of this wine." The waiter nodded, which House took to mean that he'd made a good stab, and offered Foreman a stare as if to say, You're not fucking getting rid of me, you spiteful, sneaky asshole.
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House held Foreman's glare, not showing one hint that it had ruffled him. He gave Foreman another tight grin, thinking about his response--no way he was going to clue Foreman into the fact that he had a key now. "You should really think about added security. Anyone could have broken in. Someone, oh, I don't know, looking for a new plasma screen TV," House said, as if he'd just done Foreman a favor by proving how lax his locks were. "Hell, I did it, and I'm not even black."
House drained the rest of the wine, finishing it off with a loud lip-smack and satisfied, "Aah." He set the glass down and slid it across the table toward Foreman, a little to his right, leaving it up to him to catch it before it flew off the table and broke on the floor. Distraction launched like a torpedo, House turned to Marty, a false-friendly grin on his face. House wasn't sure he'd ever seen Marty so frazzled; the man was almost always composed to the point of driving House up a damn wall, but now he looked as though he were calculating a run for the door like it was a prison break. "So Marty," he said, "what brings you so far from L.A., if it's not to poach on other people's territory?"
Marty pressed himself a little harder against the seat, and House wondered how far he'd have to push before Marty ended up in Foreman's fucking lap, and if Foreman would even push him away. "My wife's in-laws invited us over for the holidays and--"
"In-laws, right," House said, not keeping the disbelief out of his voice. "Need time away? A reprieve from the same-old-same-old?" The question wasn't without its implications, and House didn't try to hide them. Marty's uncomfortable, nervous laugh made House move in even closer, force Marty into Foreman's space even more. "Torturous small talk with your in-laws isn't worth the same piece of ass"--House's eyes flickered to Foreman--"right? Why not go for something--"
"Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you ready to order?" A damn waiter cut House off, and House slid back into his part of the booth and straightened up.
House shot the waiter a glare, hoping the idiot would take the hint and make this as quick as possible. "New York strip," House said, blurting out the first common menu item that came to mind before Foreman could jump in and stop him. "Medium-rare. And some more of this wine." The waiter nodded, which House took to mean that he'd made a good stab, and offered Foreman a stare as if to say, You're not fucking getting rid of me, you spiteful, sneaky asshole.