It took a moment for House to realize what exactly had transpired between Foreman and Marty while he'd been placing his order for dinner. It was hard to beat down the anger bubbling up from his stomach and into his throat, dissolving the words he'd wanted to say to Marty. Now Marty peered at him as if he were waiting for a dumb animal to perform in a zoo, eyebrows raised and an idiotic, smug smile on his face. Waiting for a damn show. He'd figured them out--House wasn't completely surprised; he hadn't been very discreet--but now he seemed to be looking forward to this, already taunting House, poking the insecurities that House hated were showing.
House glared at both of them, itching to know how much Foreman had discussed with Marty before he'd arrived. Enough for Marty to know that 'it's complicated'. House snapped his jaw shut, breathing a soft scoff through his nose at Marty's comment. Old times. More like new times. From the looks of it, Marty was interested in every juicy bit of the new times that he could get. Foreman didn't seem as interested in sharing, but he wondered if that was only because House was sitting there, and he wanted to keep House out of it. A part of him wanting to lash out at Marty, give him the show he wanted, but another part didn't want to give him any more material to taunt him with than he already had.
He glanced down at the table as the waiter returned with more wine and another glass, which he set in front of House. He downed the glass before the waiter refilled the other glasses, already feeling a sudden lightheaded rush, and leaned out of the booth to catch the waiter's apron. "Hey," he said, tapping his glass on the table. "Leave the bottle." The waiter raised his eyebrows but did as he was told before leaving them with the news that their entrees would be ready shortly. House poured himself another glass, keeping silent and glaring at Marty over the rim of his glass, then Foreman, who seemed pretty pissed off himself, but he wasn't sure if that was all directed at him anymore.
"What's the matter, Greg?" Marty asked, pretending to soothe him. The bastard laid a hand over his wrist, and House tried to freeze it with a frosty glare. Easier to saw it off with a fucking butter knife that way. He felt too proud, didn't want to give Marty the satisfaction of physically backing down, to shrug the touch away himself. "I don't think I've ever seen you speechless before."
When Marty turned his head to share a laugh with Foreman, House entertained the fantasy of driving that knife through Marty's smug little eyeball, but he used his free hand to tip his wine glass to his mouth. "Just giving you and Eric time to catch up, Marty," House answered, letting his hand fall beside him under the table when Marty leaned away, matching his falsely cheery grin. "Don't let me get in your way."
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House glared at both of them, itching to know how much Foreman had discussed with Marty before he'd arrived. Enough for Marty to know that 'it's complicated'. House snapped his jaw shut, breathing a soft scoff through his nose at Marty's comment. Old times. More like new times. From the looks of it, Marty was interested in every juicy bit of the new times that he could get. Foreman didn't seem as interested in sharing, but he wondered if that was only because House was sitting there, and he wanted to keep House out of it. A part of him wanting to lash out at Marty, give him the show he wanted, but another part didn't want to give him any more material to taunt him with than he already had.
He glanced down at the table as the waiter returned with more wine and another glass, which he set in front of House. He downed the glass before the waiter refilled the other glasses, already feeling a sudden lightheaded rush, and leaned out of the booth to catch the waiter's apron. "Hey," he said, tapping his glass on the table. "Leave the bottle." The waiter raised his eyebrows but did as he was told before leaving them with the news that their entrees would be ready shortly. House poured himself another glass, keeping silent and glaring at Marty over the rim of his glass, then Foreman, who seemed pretty pissed off himself, but he wasn't sure if that was all directed at him anymore.
"What's the matter, Greg?" Marty asked, pretending to soothe him. The bastard laid a hand over his wrist, and House tried to freeze it with a frosty glare. Easier to saw it off with a fucking butter knife that way. He felt too proud, didn't want to give Marty the satisfaction of physically backing down, to shrug the touch away himself. "I don't think I've ever seen you speechless before."
When Marty turned his head to share a laugh with Foreman, House entertained the fantasy of driving that knife through Marty's smug little eyeball, but he used his free hand to tip his wine glass to his mouth. "Just giving you and Eric time to catch up, Marty," House answered, letting his hand fall beside him under the table when Marty leaned away, matching his falsely cheery grin. "Don't let me get in your way."