Foreman's cool aloofness shattered as soon as House tipped Foreman's plate, and Foreman became a put-upon, snappy spring of action, cleaning food off himself, fussing with his shirt, slamming his plate onto the coffee table. House glanced from the plate to Foreman and shot him a satisfied grin in response to his remark. He knew that Foreman, when he could, pressed his 'helpless cripple' button with no remorse, but even more freely when he was pissed off, and it didn't come as a surprise to House. It didn't bother him, either, and he watched Foreman storm off to the kitchen before turning back to face forward. His plan had worked well enough--not exactly the results he'd wanted--and House could pick a few pieces of lint off the food. Good enough for him. Still better than whatever shitty meal he could microwave for himself. He'd make more for himself than microwavable soup or scrambled eggs or sandwiches if he could. Well, he could, but standing up for that long, and ferrying ingredients all over the place was a bitch. He'd rather something mostly prepared. Or prepared, whether it was from the hospital cafeteria or take-out or now Foreman's kitchen, even if it meant waiting around for it like a vulture.
By the time Foreman came back, the other plate filled with food in his hand, House was already digging in, but managed to notice when Foreman's footsteps stopped short of the couch. He glanced over at Foreman, who looked like he was planning on holding this grudge for a while, and then, not returning Foreman's glare, turned back to face the TV. "Any chance I could cover you with milk and flour?" House asked, shoveling a little more food into his mouth. This really wasn't bad. He had to weasel dinner out of Foreman more often. "We could join forces to make a food pyramid." He could still smell the damn mango in his hair, but at least mango was better than stir-fry.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-05-15 06:18 am (UTC)By the time Foreman came back, the other plate filled with food in his hand, House was already digging in, but managed to notice when Foreman's footsteps stopped short of the couch. He glanced over at Foreman, who looked like he was planning on holding this grudge for a while, and then, not returning Foreman's glare, turned back to face the TV. "Any chance I could cover you with milk and flour?" House asked, shoveling a little more food into his mouth. This really wasn't bad. He had to weasel dinner out of Foreman more often. "We could join forces to make a food pyramid." He could still smell the damn mango in his hair, but at least mango was better than stir-fry.