Foreman had no place to go. He considered a bar, to catch House up and probably pass him, numbing away the evening with alcohol. He knew he'd end up having to take a taxi, stumble into his apartment, and still have nothing to show for it. Even more briefly, he considered tracking Chase down and dragging him out. Talk to him. But Chase had been even more annoying than usual this week, telling Foreman he took himself too seriously, that coming back to Princeton hadn't gotten him anywhere new and that he was the butt of House's games. Yeah, Foreman got that point loud and clear tonight. He didn't need Chase gleefully pointing it out. He definitely didn't need Chase's fish-faced gape or his laughter at Foreman's expense if he told Chase the whole story. In the end, after taking half a dozen random turns, Foreman scoffed at himself for caring, for reacting like this. It shouldn't even be a surprise. He turned towards his apartment, slowing down because there would be nothing more idiotic than getting pulled over because he was upset. When he got in, he took the stairs instead of the elevator, trying to physically work out some of the frustration that still surged through him.
It didn't help. Foreman dumped his wallet, keys, and phone on the kitchen counter, and went to the bedroom to strip out of his suit. He pulled on his Columbia hoodie and a pair of jeans, fuming the whole time. House would be getting the third degree from Wilson. Since Foreman doubted House would take that silently, he must be lying his head off about Foreman, about everything. Or just telling the fucking truth for once. He's a good lay but I could take or leave him. That it was over, because House had no clue how to leave something well enough alone. Or how to trust him.
Foreman turned the television on, got annoyed, and flicked it off again. Paced through the apartment. Finally threw himself into his office chair, his jaw tight, staring off at nothing much. Foreman wasn't House; he wasn't going to escape how he was feeling by getting drunk. He'd deal with it the same way he always had.
The sound of the apartment door slamming brought him up short. Foreman clenched his fists when he heard House call out. Joking, as if everything was just fucking fine. He pushed back his chair and went out to the living room, glaring at House. "What are you doing here?" he snapped. "Breaking in once wasn't good enough for you?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-04-08 02:21 am (UTC)It didn't help. Foreman dumped his wallet, keys, and phone on the kitchen counter, and went to the bedroom to strip out of his suit. He pulled on his Columbia hoodie and a pair of jeans, fuming the whole time. House would be getting the third degree from Wilson. Since Foreman doubted House would take that silently, he must be lying his head off about Foreman, about everything. Or just telling the fucking truth for once. He's a good lay but I could take or leave him. That it was over, because House had no clue how to leave something well enough alone. Or how to trust him.
Foreman turned the television on, got annoyed, and flicked it off again. Paced through the apartment. Finally threw himself into his office chair, his jaw tight, staring off at nothing much. Foreman wasn't House; he wasn't going to escape how he was feeling by getting drunk. He'd deal with it the same way he always had.
The sound of the apartment door slamming brought him up short. Foreman clenched his fists when he heard House call out. Joking, as if everything was just fucking fine. He pushed back his chair and went out to the living room, glaring at House. "What are you doing here?" he snapped. "Breaking in once wasn't good enough for you?"