Foreman hated the incredulous, gaping look he'd seen on Wilson's face, even though Wilson was trying as hard as possible now to pretend that he was accepting and unruffled. Foreman had known that people would think he was crazy, or deluded, or both, to be with House, and it wasn't any more than he'd expected, but it was still infuriating that Wilson would have a free pass to stick his nose into Foreman's life, to question his every move and motive.
He was a fucking idiot. Only a moron would think that House could sustain an adult relationship. He'd seen no evidence of that over the last four years. Foreman gritted his teeth when Wilson tried to help, if that was even what he thought he was doing. A minute ago, Foreman had thought that if House was kissing him, that meant they'd still be able to talk, or at least communicate. He'd drag House home and prove he meant what he said. He knew better now.
Foreman stared over the roof of Wilson's car, attempting to meet House's eyes. "He doesn't need me," he said flatly. House probably wouldn't answer, and it was even less likely that he cared about what Foreman had to say. Without another word, Foreman turned around and crossed the street, heading for his car.
He unlocked the door and threw himself into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut viciously, and leaned forward, crossing his arms over the steering wheel and glaring out the windshield at nothing at all. He had no idea where he'd go. It was still early, and there wouldn't be a single distraction at home that would stop him from running the whole conversation through his mind over and over again. Getting more furious at Marty with each insult, more pissed off with House each time he watched Foreman push away Nathan's card and still refused to believe him. Well, fuck him. Fuck him. Foreman turned the key in the ignition and pulled out, foot heavy on the accelerator, with no real destination in mind.
no subject
He was a fucking idiot. Only a moron would think that House could sustain an adult relationship. He'd seen no evidence of that over the last four years. Foreman gritted his teeth when Wilson tried to help, if that was even what he thought he was doing. A minute ago, Foreman had thought that if House was kissing him, that meant they'd still be able to talk, or at least communicate. He'd drag House home and prove he meant what he said. He knew better now.
Foreman stared over the roof of Wilson's car, attempting to meet House's eyes. "He doesn't need me," he said flatly. House probably wouldn't answer, and it was even less likely that he cared about what Foreman had to say. Without another word, Foreman turned around and crossed the street, heading for his car.
He unlocked the door and threw himself into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut viciously, and leaned forward, crossing his arms over the steering wheel and glaring out the windshield at nothing at all. He had no idea where he'd go. It was still early, and there wouldn't be a single distraction at home that would stop him from running the whole conversation through his mind over and over again. Getting more furious at Marty with each insult, more pissed off with House each time he watched Foreman push away Nathan's card and still refused to believe him. Well, fuck him. Fuck him. Foreman turned the key in the ignition and pulled out, foot heavy on the accelerator, with no real destination in mind.