House's eyes darted toward Foreman when he told Marty to stop. For a second, House felt a small tug of relief, but it occurred to him that Foreman was only trying to cover his own ass. Covering House's was a necessary by-product. Not that Marty actually listened, and House's shoulders bunched with tension when Marty, as if he'd only just uncovered a new strain of disease, enthusiastically dug in with more questions. House wasn't sure if they were directed at Foreman or himself, but Foreman cut in before House could snidely tell Marty to go mind his own business in hell.
House pressed his lips together, meeting Foreman's glare and wondering what the fuck Foreman was glaring at him for. He wasn't the one who agreed to meet this prick for dinner. This wasn't his fault. Christ. An instant later, House regretted his choice of words, tensed even more, nearly swallowed his wine down the wrong pipe when Marty practically burst with news about a guy called Nathan. It didn't take very long to figure out who this Nathan was, or had been, even without Marty's help. Very close. What a fucker.
"Not anymore." House let the words fly with as much confidence as he could, working to convince himself that he was right about this. Had to be. He knew he was speaking for Foreman, but in all the time that Foreman had been a fellow and within the last couple weeks, House had never run across the name 'Nathan'. House didn't doubt that this Nathan was real--Foreman looked angry, not confused, which served as confirmation enough--but the simple fact that Marty knew more about Foreman than he did gnawed at him, especially since he put so much effort into rooting through the pasts of practically everyone he knew. He wouldn't put it past Marty to drag an old name into the conversation--the old name of a 'very close' boyfriend--just to rile House up, so he could kick back and watch the explosion. Marty was probably contriving a story from nothing. No hospital benefit. No Nathan. Just a situation that would fan House's jealousy for Marty's amusement.
"Nathan gave me his business card," Marty said, turning back to Foreman and assuming a friendly smile, as if he was a sort of benevolent messenger. "He asked me to pass it along so you two could touch base. Reconnect."
House forced himself to keep his face still, non-reactive, as Marty reached into the inside pocket of his suit and withdrew a white card. So, fine, the bastard wasn't making it up, only capitalizing on the opportunity to make House squirm. Make him want to dive across the table and rip that business card, and Marty, to itty-bitty, indistinguishable shreds. House curled his hands into fists under the table instead, his gaze flitting from Foreman's face to the card as Marty slid it across the table to set it directly in front of Foreman.
no subject
House pressed his lips together, meeting Foreman's glare and wondering what the fuck Foreman was glaring at him for. He wasn't the one who agreed to meet this prick for dinner. This wasn't his fault. Christ. An instant later, House regretted his choice of words, tensed even more, nearly swallowed his wine down the wrong pipe when Marty practically burst with news about a guy called Nathan. It didn't take very long to figure out who this Nathan was, or had been, even without Marty's help. Very close. What a fucker.
"Not anymore." House let the words fly with as much confidence as he could, working to convince himself that he was right about this. Had to be. He knew he was speaking for Foreman, but in all the time that Foreman had been a fellow and within the last couple weeks, House had never run across the name 'Nathan'. House didn't doubt that this Nathan was real--Foreman looked angry, not confused, which served as confirmation enough--but the simple fact that Marty knew more about Foreman than he did gnawed at him, especially since he put so much effort into rooting through the pasts of practically everyone he knew. He wouldn't put it past Marty to drag an old name into the conversation--the old name of a 'very close' boyfriend--just to rile House up, so he could kick back and watch the explosion. Marty was probably contriving a story from nothing. No hospital benefit. No Nathan. Just a situation that would fan House's jealousy for Marty's amusement.
"Nathan gave me his business card," Marty said, turning back to Foreman and assuming a friendly smile, as if he was a sort of benevolent messenger. "He asked me to pass it along so you two could touch base. Reconnect."
House forced himself to keep his face still, non-reactive, as Marty reached into the inside pocket of his suit and withdrew a white card. So, fine, the bastard wasn't making it up, only capitalizing on the opportunity to make House squirm. Make him want to dive across the table and rip that business card, and Marty, to itty-bitty, indistinguishable shreds. House curled his hands into fists under the table instead, his gaze flitting from Foreman's face to the card as Marty slid it across the table to set it directly in front of Foreman.