November 8, 2007

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

If it hadn't been for his previous case, freshly solved and still swimming inside his brain, House would have spent his Saturday like he normally did--half-conscious for most of it, in front of the TV, or in bed, going back and forth between reading recent articles and surfing the Internet. But his curiosity had been nagging at him since the case wrapped up.

House had said the patient was "nuts" and, therefore, unreliable, but it'd been entertaining and--yes, he'd admit it, if only to himself--interesting to learn a few tidbits about his team. He'd struck out with Thirteen, though, despite his best efforts to dig for some of her 'secrets' via the Mirror Man. Her resume only told him so much, and Internet searches yielded close to nothing--nothing more than her resume, college transcripts, and recommendation letters didn't tell him. He'd gotten a hold of her medical records and noticed that, strangely, her family history was missing. Nobody avoided personal questions so vehemently unless they had something to hide, and House wanted to know what exactly was so important for her to keep a secret. He had to root it out, and he needed a sidekick. A dog to help him sniff it out.

Wilson wasn't answering his phone, and House would rather save himself a trip across town if it meant he could whistle for another dog. House shrugged on his jacket as he headed out the door, his pager in hand, and sent a message to Foreman: 911. My office. He'd show; he knew he would.

When he reached his office, he made himself busy as he waited for Foreman to arrive. He looked up Thirteen's address, snagged it from her employee records, and printed directions from the hospital. He was ready to go a-sniffing, just as soon as Foreman showed up.

Comments

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

It was Foreman's first real weekend back in Princeton, and so far, all he could think was how much he hated it. He should have been in New York; Dr. Schaeffer had arranged for him to attend a conference on short notice as Mercy's representative, where he would have been able to network and find contacts. He would have come out of it with new ideas for papers or presentations. Now, the only upside was that Schaeffer would have to explain his absence, and her embarrassment wasn't nearly enough payment for the hit his career would take from her explanations.

Being stuck in Princeton with nothing better to think about was even worse. Foreman didn't want to look up his old friends--well, acquaintances, mostly. Except for Cameron and Chase, they'd all be after him to explain why he was back, and he wasn't going to put himself through that. It was embarrassing enough to move back in to his old apartment that he'd jauntily left in the spring, content to keep it in his name until the lease ran out. Without a subletter, it had just been a waste of money; now, at the very least, he had a roof over his head.

It was almost a relief when his pager went off in the middle of some television show he wasn't even watching. He checked the number and the message, grabbed his coat, and was halfway to the hospital before he even had second thoughts about House paging him when Diagnostics didn't have a patient. Stopped at a red light and fuming over wasting time, it finally hit him that House was at the hospital on a Saturday. House fought tooth and nail against showing up at work during the week; imagining him there now...

It was a prank. It had to be. Foreman slammed a hand against the steering wheel and very nearly pulled an illegal U-turn. He pulled into the next parking lot instead. He wasn't going to ignore the page--this once. House didn't usually cry wolf, although his definition of an 'emergency' didn't match the rest of the world's. Foreman sighed. He'd pulled into a fast food joint, one where they at least had decent coffee. He started the engine again and went through the drive-through, taking his time ordering, and took his sweet time driving the rest of the way to the hospital. If House really was there, Foreman wouldn't mind at all if he was pissed off at the wait. And at going hungry, when Foreman had lunch.

At the hospital, Foreman took the stairs just to add a few minutes to his time, and glanced into the Diagnostics office skeptically--but House really was there, playing with his toys and looking as annoyed as Foreman felt. He pushed open the door to the office. "What?" he asked, in his most put-upon voice.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

"Way to hustle. I could have been dying. I feel so unloved," House said, thrusting his bottom lip out to pout at Foreman for his lack of concern. Actually, he expected as much, and had played a few rounds of Solitaire on his desktop for some mindless entertainment. He'd put on his best annoyed expression as Foreman had walked through the door, but he'd done it for show before he'd let his grin break through at Foreman's frustration.

He noticed a bag in Foreman's hand, and he craned his neck to see where it had come from, trying to spot a design or logo on the bag, not quite succeeding. So he ignored Foreman's question and nodded to his bag. "Bring me a present?"

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

House's shit-eating grin made Foreman want to...well, a year or two ago, he would have said punch him in the face. Now, though, it was a mild annoyance at best, and he rolled his eyes. So he was here on a Saturday; it wasn't like The Price Is Right had been holding his attention. What House's behaviour really called for was to throw a water balloon at him or to prank call him at two in the morning. Except, once you started down that road, it would never, ever end--Wilson was the proof of that.

So Foreman took a seat in House's recliner, took a three-patty cheeseburger out of his take-out bag, unwrapped it slowly--the aroma wafted up, making his stomach rumble--and he bit into it ostentatiously. Ketchup spurted out onto his fingers, and for once he didn't reach immediately for a napkin. He was wearing slacks and under his leather jacket, an old sweater, nice enough but not worth saving when he could meet House's glance and lick ketchup off his fingers. He savoured his bite, closing his eyes and really enjoying it. "Nope," he finally answered House's question, when he'd swallowed. "Why am I here, House?"

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House sneered at Foreman as he made a show of sloppily devouring his cheeseburger, and--damn it--started feeling hungry in the pit of his stomach. Aside from buttered toast, House hadn't eaten, and, maybe his eyes were fooling him, but he swore that Foreman's bag held other items besides the burger he'd pulled out.

Determined to snag some food for himself, he tucked the folded directions into the back pocket of his jeans and stood, shrugging on his long, wool coat. Crossing the room with as much speed as he could manage, he squinted at Foreman and replied, "Don't ask me. You're the one who showed up." Leaning down as he stepped with his left foot, House swiped Foreman's take-out bag from his lap, clutching it tightly and legging it for the door.

"Let's go. You drive. I navigate."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman almost choked on his next bite when House practically took his belt off as well as grabbing the rest of his lunch out of his hands. Damn, he was fast when he wanted to be--Foreman should have remembered that was always, when there was food in the equation. He swallowed the last of the burger hastily, even though he wasn't quite finished chewing. He'd been hungrier than he thought, and now House had possession of the rest of his food. Bastard.

"Page 911 too often and next time I'll tell Wilson I think you might have jaundice," he retorted. Now there was a threat: it was probably even likely. House might be anemic, too, and of course Wilson would badger him into a series humiliating tests. Get him into a backless hospital gown and his new team would quickly find out he was human. Sort of.

Foreman followed House out of the office, angry at himself for feeling like one very lonely gosling. He stepped a bit faster so that he was walking at House's side. Questions obviously weren't going to get him anywhere. He eyed the paper bag House was clutching as if it held his next month's supply of Vicodin rather than a few mushy fries and an apple fritter. If he got a chance, he was grabbing it right back. "Navigate me out of Princeton and you'll be limping home," he said, when they got on the elevator.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House replied with an eye-roll; Foreman wouldn't suggest jaundice to Wilson. Even if he did, Wilson would take one look at House, realize it was a revenge ploy, and, while House might be forced to sit through a lecture, he'd still have company.

Before House entered the elevator, he caught Foreman's glance at his lunch bag, and gripped it tighter. He would easily be able to stop in the hospital's cafeteria for his own lunch, and it would probably be better than whatever Foreman had ordered, but that wasn't the point. When Foreman spoke, again with a threat, House groaned. "It's stupid to threaten if you're not going to follow through," he said. The elevator deposited them on the ground floor, and he started toward the exit. "Who knows what would happen if I walked all the way home. I'm easy prey. Could get mugged. Killed. Then you'd be out of a job, and then what would you do? Twiddle your thumbs and hope someone hasn't blacklisted you?"

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, still gripping the bag, and followed Foreman to his car. When he reached it, he climbed into the backseat--farther away from Foreman's grabby hands--and wolfed down a few fries before Foreman settled into the driver's seat.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

"Cuddy hasn't blacklisted me," Foreman pointed out as they made their way through the parking lot. "She'd probably promote me if you were murdered. It's starting to sound like an incentive."

Foreman unlocked the car, and watched, amused, as House climbed into the backseat. So he got to play chauffeur. There was still no reason for any of this, and he sighed as he backed out of his parking space. At least House wasn't insisting that he ride behind him on his motorcycle. That he would have put his foot down about--he really wasn't about to put his arms around House. Or ride without a helmet.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Foreman watched House eating his fries. He looked half like a kid eager for an outing and half like a shifty wolf worried that his bone was going to get snatched from him before he could chew out the marrow. "There's ketchup in the bag," he said, at this point resigned to losing his food. And if threats didn't work, then generosity probably would. "You might as well enjoy them. I'm not feeding you again."

Once they reached the stop sign at the hospital entrance, he checked the mirror again. House was appreciating the food even more than Foreman had, and he'd been showing off on purpose. Watching House's expression was always an experience, but even more when he didn't seem to know he was being watched. A horn honked behind them, and Foreman jerked his eyes away from the mirror. "House. Navigate."

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

Peering up at the back of Foreman's head, House grinned when he spoke, inviting him to the ketchup in the bag, too, a resigned tone in his voice. "Aww," House sing-songed, stuffing a couple fries into his mouth. "No sad faces. Feeding me's like a privilege. You should be flattered."

House squeezed some ketchup onto a few fries, and he glanced at Foreman as a drop of it fell onto the seat. Foreman hadn't noticed. House made no move to clean it up, scooting farther away from it, feeling vindictive and silently taking credit for the accident. His mouth was full when Foreman demanded he navigate, and House spoke before he swallowed. "Go right." He reached into his pocket, grabbed the directions, and summarized. "Turn left on Linden. Right onto Guyot. We're looking for 632."

Because of some snooping he'd done in Thirteen's bag, he'd discovered that she had afternoon plans--a lunch date, apparently--and would probably be gone for an hour or two. It would give them some time to browse, maybe happen across a useful piece of information, something House could use. He finished off the fries by the time Foreman turned onto Guyot, and he started on the fritter. A dab of filling leaked onto his hand, and he wiped it beside the drying ketchup on the seat.

"Why did you show up?" House asked, unable to contain the question. "You couldn't have thought there was an actual emergency. Bored? All out of hobbies? All out of friends?"

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

The area they were heading for was mostly small parks and apartment buildings, not far from the Princeton shopping centre. Foreman peered at street numbers, scowling a bit at House's question. It was habit, after the last three years, to come at House's call. He wasn't about to say that, though, and invite more lapdog comments. And he certainly wasn't going to bring up the fact that Cuddy would want him along, because House was clearly plotting something. Foreman would be lucky if it wasn't illegal--and his luck hadn't been the best, lately. "How's the kid with Schilder's?" he asked instead. He already knew the answer--the boy was improving on the treatment they'd started. But that should be answer enough: he came, because House might have a new mystery to offer. That was why he hadn't applied for jobs in neurology departments, where he'd still be seen as an asset despite his firing. He'd grown too attached to diagnostics.

When he found number 632, he parked the car across the street. Twisting around in his seat, he was about to ask House--again, and probably just as uselessly--why they were here. Which was when he saw the mess House had wiped all over his leather interior. "House--" He clamped his mouth shut and got out, yanking open the back door. Before House could push his way out of the car, Foreman leaned over him, taking the paper napkin out of the bag and blotting at the mess of ketchup and apple goo. Too late, he could already tell it was going to stain. "Christ." He threw the napkin on House's lap and backed out of the car, standing up and shaking his head. "Can we get this over with? Whatever the hell it is."

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House knew he must have poked at Foreman's buttons when Foreman evaded his question, replying instead with a question of his own. House knew that Foreman was well-aware of the patient's condition. Treated, improving, should be discharged shortly. Blah, blah, blah. House didn't find it interesting that Foreman evaded, but he was suddenly interested in why. There must have been a truthful answer that Foreman didn't want him to know, or one he didn't want to admit. House peered at Foreman from the backseat, a grin spreading across his face, which held steady as Foreman noticed the mess he'd made on the leather.

When Foreman, failing to clean the mess, tossed the napkin into his lap, House lifted it away, crumpling it up and throwing it into the empty bag. He crawled out of the other side of the car, sliding himself across the clean side of the seats and out, and looked at Foreman across the roof of the car. He was still grinning, and he pointed at him after closing the door. "You like this," he said. Foreman, the guy who'd quit, threw a little temper tantrum like a teenager with an identity crisis, had come back and liked it. House wasn't sure if he should be amused or pissed off. On the one hand, it was nice to know he'd been right all along, but on the other, he'd never get rid of Foreman if he was happy.

"And 'this' is a raid."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman stared at House over the roof of the car, still glaring at the steam-cleaning he'd need for the car, but a smirk was fighting its way out. Yeah, he'd hoped that they might actually be doing something medical today. It was exciting, which it shouldn't be. He'd gone to a hell of a lot of effort during college and med school to get away from that aspect of himself, the part that liked the break-and-enters for their own sake. Working for House gave him a rationalization for it, much as he complained. "Yeah, I like it," he said, knowing House would see through his sarcasm. House called him a freak for being happy; maybe he was right.

He glanced over his shoulder at the building when House said it was a raid. "Of who?" he asked. "We don't have a patient." He started mentally ticking off everyone House might care about knowing more about. Wilson and Cuddy--he probably knew everything down to their last questionable mole or impulse purchase. This wasn't anywhere near Cameron and Chase's place. It had to be one of the new team. There were six of them left. Foreman knew from Cole's complaints about the commute that he lived farther away. Kutner couldn't afford a building like this. Amber had condo fees...Taub lived with his wife, and they were doing renovations of their house...Brennan rode his bike to work, but there was no way even he would do nearly fifteen miles every morning. Which left--"Thirteen?"

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House shouldn't have been surprised Foreman had figured out where he'd led him, but he couldn't help quirking his eyebrow for a second at Foreman's correct guess. He nodded, turned, and started toward the building. As he walked, sure Foreman would follow--he liked this, after all--he checked his paper for Thirteen's unit number.

"I want something interesting," he said, and threw open the door of the building, making his way down the hall. "Something good. And I need you to open the door, and help me find it."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

"And...you know she isn't home, how?" Foreman asked. He wasn't surprised that House knew. He just wanted to find out how much snooping House did at work, so he could hide his own day planner better. This was a complete breach of trust and privacy, but at this point, the candidates couldn't possibly expect anything better. They'd been with House for six weeks. If they were smart enough to be hired, they should be smart enough to keep anything 'interesting' well away from their HR-documented addresses.

They stopped in front of a door, and Foreman sighed when House pulled out a lockpick, handed it to him, and waved him forward. He worked on the lock for a minute or two, grimacing each time he felt the tumblers almost click into place. He wasn't exactly a cat burglar, but House's mocking look, which he could feel against the back of his neck as the man practically loomed over him, was enough to sting his pride. He'd get it eventually. On the verge of opening the door, he paused and looked up. "You did this to all of us, didn't you?"

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

If Foreman expected House to share his secrets, well, he'd be entirely wrong. Of course, now he would expect Foreman to be extra cautious with what he kept in his hospital locker, but he'd eventually work around it. As Foreman grudgingly accepted the lockpick, he said, determined to be as unhelpful as possible, "A little bird sang all of Thirteen's plans into my ear as I was driving home last night. Excellent source of gossip."

House sighed with impatience as he watched Foreman attempt to open the door. He was about to comment on Foreman's lack of skill--he really thought he'd be better; he'd done well enough with Cuddy's drawer a while back--but Foreman opened his mouth first. "Didn't have to do it to you. I had all the interesting information I could want without having to break into your place." It wasn't entirely true. He'd missed some key information on Cameron--her marriage--but Foreman and Chase had been relatively easy. More than enough dirt with minimal effort.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman snorted quietly when House said he'd gotten all the information he needed elsewhere. Sure, by interrogating Foreman's high school teachers, as well as anyone else in Foreman's life he could get a hold of. But Foreman still had his share of secrets. His brother, maybe. His life back in California, certainly, because House had been so busy doubting Marty Hamilton's medical credentials that he hadn't thought to pump him for any other information. "Yeah, you know me so well," he muttered, still working on the lock.

The door finally clicked open, and he pushed it wide. They both peered inside for a second, before House widened his eyes at him pointedly and stepped inside. Foreman raised his eyebrows and followed. "She's out at one on a Saturday," he said, glancing around the open space, working through Thirteen's whereabouts. "It's not a routine thing, or you'd have done this already. Lunch date?" Surely, for House, Thirteen's love life would count as 'interesting'--she reminded him a lot of Cameron as he'd first known her, slender, dark, and wide-eyed. And House had made enough comments to make it pretty clear that he liked what he saw. Foreman frowned at House's back and started looking around in earnest.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

If he hadn't been listening so closely, he wouldn't have heard Foreman's mutter, and, to him, it might as well have been an invitation to keep searching for interesting information. Apparently, he'd missed something crucial, and House made a mental note to snoop through Foreman's past, with or without his cooperation.

House entered the apartment first, stepping past Foreman, and scanned the room before beginning a thorough search. Spacious. Not exactly a "warm and fuzzy" place, though. Industrial decor. It seemed to fit for Thirteen; even her place seemed "detached". As he did a quick sweep of the apartment, he heard Foreman mention something about a lunch date. Right on track. Again. He wondered if Foreman had done his own research, but for another purpose. His on-the-money guesses could have been because he'd already known, because he was interested himself. He wondered if Foreman had ever actually been here before, but he refrained from asking.

"Same little bird been visiting you, too?" he replied, without looking in Foreman's direction. When he finally did look at him, he saw Foreman still standing near the door. "I brought you along to help, not watch." He gestured to the room, urging that he start searching with him. He'd get much more accomplished that way, and, right now, he was all about efficiency.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman's frown turned thoughtful as he walked forward at House's urging. Something about the decor of the place. Brickwork, chunky pillows, art on the walls: a few landscapes, but also a print of a woman looking over her shoulder at the camera, her arms wrapped around her knees. It looked one step above a college poster, but it was something that Thirteen had clearly brought along and cared enough to frame.

It wasn't any one thing. Maybe it was something about Thirteen herself. The way she'd become so attached to House's number nickname. The way she watched the rest of the candidates, not with Amber's open hostility, but with a certain cautious suspicion. She was trying so hard to become invisible that it practically screamed that there was something she was trying to hide. Which was exactly why House was interested, of course.

A lunch date, when she was new in town...it sounded like some sort of set-up. Guys preferred drinks, a bar, a movie. A date in the evening was more likely to lead straight back to someone's apartment. Women, though, liked coffee, lunches, places that were more open, less easily interpretable.

Foreman chuckled when the idea came to him. No wonder Thirteen hated the way House slapped labels on everyone he encountered, as if they could be judged on first impressions alone. He hated that himself. His own defense had taken a different turn, as he'd tried for the last three years to fit exactly into the box House expected of him. He grinned at House, who was still looking around as if there might be concrete evidence hidden under the bed or in the back of a cupboard. "You're not going to find anything," he said confidently.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

Without waiting for a response, House continued his search, opening cupboard in the kitchen, her refrigerator. He wandered through her living area, and he found himself becoming more disappointed as he searched through more places, opened more drawers to find nothing. He frowned, about to head for the bathroom when Foreman's chuckle stopped him mid-step.

He gazed at Foreman, saw his grin--the one that sing-songed 'I know something you don't know'--and felt annoyed when Foreman took a moment to gloat, failing to elaborate on his statement. He rolled his eyes and swept his hand through the air as he said, "And, you know this because...?" He trailed off, several guesses scrolling through his head. "You've been here before? Thirteen give you a tour, or did you search on your own?"

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman laughed louder when House guessed that he'd been given a tour--a personalized tour, from the sour face House was making. "Can't say I've had the pleasure," he said. "And I'm not the one who breaks into people's houses on a whim." Well, today excepted, but this was hardly under his own initiative.

He shook his head, and looked around again as the idea fell into place. House would turn from jealous to intrigued in about point-four seconds if he knew. Foreman thought about keeping it to himself, leaving House hanging, except then both he and Thirteen would be the subject of endless nagging and questions, and Foreman would prefer if she didn't know he'd been involved in this little investigation. "I think Thirteen plays for the home team," he said, grinning again. "Or at least, isn't against switch-hitting."

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

"Really?" House responded, his voice leaping up an octave. "Then, I'm a little confused as to why you're here, breaking into someone's house." He turned away from Foreman, continuing his search. He marched into the bathroom, slowly crouching down to peek under the sink. He nosed through the contents--nothing riveting. Spare paper products. Tampons. Cleaning supplies.

House sighed, and as he rearranged the contents as he found them, Foreman's voice drifted into the bathroom. In an instant, House's eyes went wide, his thoughts seemed to skid to a halt, and he raised his head--too fast, without checking his surroundings--and cracked his head on the vanity, the wood panel above the door. "What?" he shouted, ignoring the pain for a moment as he eased back from the sink and stood up. "Fuck," he mumbled to himself, and pressed his hand to his head, trying to soothe it, along with the wild images raging through his brain, sure that Foreman was messing with him. The bastard.

He stepped out of the bathroom, his hand still easing the throb in his head, and found Foreman looking entirely too smug. He studied him. "Takes one to know one? Or do you have some other kind of proof other than a hunch?"

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

The sound of House crashing into something--and his reappearance from the bathroom, nursing a bump on his head--was all the encouragement Foreman needed. He hadn't had this much fun at House's expense since House had gone crazy trying to convince him he hadn't changed after the naegleria. He hadn't actually had this much fun in New York, period. He faltered a bit at House's next words, but bluffing had never failed him before.

"Yeah, House, I've dated women," he said, pouring all the disdainful confidence into his voice that he could muster. "So I know what it's like."

He shook his head. "And since when have you ever needed proof? You treat on a hunch all the time. What are you going to do, track Thirteen down on her date?"

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House would have paid attention to Foreman's response if he'd been less distracted--he was suddenly curious, and made a note to come back to that question when he was less distracted by pain and the erotic lesbian images flashing in his mind. He dismissed Foreman's first response and stepped farther into the room, closer to Foreman.

"I'm right more than you," he said, finally letting his hand fall from his head, even though it still throbbed. He was considering borrowing some of Thirteen's ice from her freezer when Foreman's next words killed that thought, and a grin tugged at his mouth. As fast as he could manage, he hoofed it to the door, speaking over his shoulder. "But you have good ideas. Lock up on the way out."

He actually remembered where Thirteen was headed for her date, and it wouldn't take long to drive a few streets down and set up a post across the street. He might even be able to convince Foreman to crash the date with him. Maybe answer his earlier question somehow--kill two birds with one stone. He headed straight out of the building and leaned against the passenger door of Foreman's car, waiting for him to catch up.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman nearly smacked himself on the forehead the moment the words were out of his mouth--he should have known House was going to take him up on his words. Worse than that. He had known, and he'd said it anyway. He had to rile House up, to be the one who was right.

He locked the apartment door and hurried after House. "No way," he said as House slammed out of the apartment building. He was so intent on catching up he barely noticed traffic, forcing a car to stop for him and thumping on its hood when it honked at him. "This is insane. You're going to get us caught."

They stopped, House once again staring at him over the roof of the car, with a grin that meant nothing but chaos. Foreman could feel his heart beating a little faster than usual, something he usually associated with House acting crazy, something that shouldn't be fun. "What the hell are you going to say when she sees you?" he said. "You're not exactly inconspicuous."

Even as he said it, though, he was unlocking the car and getting in behind the wheel. It was the only distraction that would keep House out of his personal life. He'd been playing with fire too much recently. He blamed New York--for the first time in years, he'd felt like maybe he could stretch himself, act without imagining House staring over his shoulder.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House watched, amused, as Foreman darted across the street, racing toward him. He couldn't help but grin at Foreman's objection, fully aware that Foreman would go along with his plan--or, at least, one version of it--even if he tried to pretend to stop him.

"Me? You mean me and you," House said, slipping into the passenger seat when Foreman unlocked the car. This had turned out to be far more eventful than he could have hoped for, he thought, smiling to himself. "What? Colleagues can't have lunch at the same restaurant?" he asked, reaching in front of him to open the glove compartment, still in a snooping mood.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman reached over quickly and snapped the glove compartment shut before House could see what was in it. He couldn't exactly remember himself. It couldn't be good, no matter what House found. He could feel his face warming, and he was grateful that it didn't really show. Colleagues eating a meal together--yeah, right.

"I don't think Thirteen is quite that gullible," he said. He and House had had their share of meals together, but it usually involved House shooting down his diagnostic suggestions, and it definitely wasn't something that happened outside the hospital. He was starting to wonder whether he was actually on to something. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, frowning lightly. House really would have a case that he was projecting if it turned out Thirteen was out with a friend, or a man. He tried to chuckle. "You're on your own if she comes after you."

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House squinted at Foreman, suspicious, when he reached over and hastily closed the glove compartment before he could have a good look inside. That raised all kinds of red flags. Foreman should know better; he should have known that behavior like that would only raise his suspicions. He ignore Thirteen for a moment, curious about this glove compartment. "Must be something really good in here," he mused, taunting Foreman. He'd forgotten how fun it was to rile him up.

He brushed Foreman's hand out of the way and opened the compartment, leaning far forward to try to block another attempt to close it. He reached inside, fishing around. Insurance papers. Boring. Emergency phone card. Boring. He tossed the items into Foreman's lap, just to annoy him even more--nosing through and disregarding his property. Some of Foreman's favorite things.

When his fingers closed around several small foil packets, a full-blown smile spread over his face. He pulled them out of the compartment and waved them in the air between the two of them. "Foreman, I thought you would have been a little more subtle than this," he said, swelling with smugness, barely restraining his amusement. "I mean, I know you're a busy man, but you'd think you'd be courteous enough to take a cripple somewhere a little more spacious."

He shot Foreman a big, huge grin, and studied the condom wrappers. "Ribbed for my pleasure. Well. How thoughtful." The jokes were just lining up in his head. It couldn't get much better than this, House thought.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

"Would you--" Foreman tried to get a hand in House's way, stopping him from getting into the glovebox, but House was already gleefully throwing all his papers around, into Foreman's lap and letting them slip to the floor. "Stop that." Foreman slammed on the brakes, fortunately before he'd even cleared his parking space. He'd nearly pulled out into traffic while House reached into the glove compartment again and this time came out with a handful of condoms.

Foreman clenched his jaw, caught between anger and humiliation. It wasn't like House wouldn't have any condoms around his place, if Foreman, for some insane reason, decided he wanted to snoop. It wasn't unusual, it wasn't even out of place for him to have them. He was a responsible fucking adult. He wanted to yell again, tell House to mind his own goddamn business, but four years of watching Cuddy try that tactic had taught him better--hell, one case after coming back to Princeton had reinforced the lesson all over again. The only way to deal with House was to throw his own bullshit right back at him and catch him off-balance. Otherwise House was just going on, with no end in sight to his mockery.

"Burgers and a break-in is not subtle," Foreman said tightly, definitely not looking at House, checking his mirrors and peeling out into a miniscule break in traffic. "Now am I going to fuck you, or are you going to tell me where the hell we're going?"

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House was enjoying this unexpected glovebox treasure, still sporting a wide, satisfied grin, when Foreman turned his attention to his mirrors. Mirrors which needed no adjusting, since nobody had touched them since they'd been adjusted when they'd left the hospital.

He anticipated a snippy response, but he did not expect the one that flew out of Foreman's mouth. Whoa. Well, that was interesting, House thought, staring agape at Foreman, who refused to meet his wide, frozen-in-the-headlights gaze. Too bad, since Foreman would have undoubtedly wanted to snap a Polaroid for his locker. A souvenir of, House considered, probably the best comeback Foreman had ever delivered. Of course, he wasn't going to tell him that.

The thought, one that, surprisingly, had never really occurred to him before, of Foreman spontaneously making good use of one of his condoms--the images suddenly battled for space amongst the lesbian porn in his head--caused him to squirm in his seat. He gripped the condom tighter in his hand than he should have, and became uncomfortably aware of the shaft of his cane resting against the inside of his leg, his mind replacing it with a slightly different kind of hard wood, apparently feeling the need to remind him that he hadn't actually gotten laid--he hadn't been fucked--in a long time.

He knew that the longer he didn't talk, didn't one-up Foreman's remark, the worse it looked for him, and he scrambled to regain his footing. He made sure his voice was natural--as natural as he could make it--when he spoke, trying to call his bluff. "I don't know. Are you? Although, it should probably wait until after our stalking's over, don't you think?" He slipped the condoms into his jacket pocket, still looking over at Foreman, his curiosity piqued to dangerous levels. He wanted to know what Foreman knew, and how he knew, and why he'd been interested in the first place, if he knew anything at all.

"Restaurant's on Nassau. Right next to that florist on the right hand side. Park across the street."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Why the hell had he said that? Foreman fumed to himself, his hands clamping down on the steering wheel, driving aggressively enough to make the guy in the next lane flip him off. The last thing he wanted was for House to start thinking about who he fucked, or where, or how. It had been bad enough when he'd been dating Wendy--the insinuating little questions, the speculative, interested way House looked him up and down. Foreman caught the tail end of House's shocked, wide-eyed look out of the corner of his eye, and his irritation blended for a moment with his self-satisfaction at making him shut the hell up.

When House's silence continued, though, Foreman squirmed. The last time he'd had any use for those condoms had been with Wendy, six months ago. Since then...not even a one-night stand. But the meaning of his words caught up with him, what it would actually be like to fuck House--to fuck the smug right out of him. Foreman's face heated as the images started to creep in. He'd seen House get high and he'd seen him in pain; the look Foreman imagined if he ever actually followed through was somewhere between that, an expression of astonished concentration.

It wasn't like this was the only time he'd ever given it a passing thought. Fantasies were rarely controllable in the heat of the moment. Bosses, coworkers--they were the people that surrounded him on a daily basis, and if he'd thought about them while getting off, it was like a dream, just his subconscious throwing up a random picture that helped drive him over the edge. He'd just never done it with House sitting six inches away, and asking him are you? in a voice that--Foreman had to be imagining it--was just slightly rougher than usual.

This was idiotic. It didn't mean anything. He'd just been jerking House around, and now House was returning the favour, trying to get the best of him. Foreman closed his eyes in frustration--bad choice of words. He followed House's directions, keeping up a stony silence as he drove, and parked on the street across from the restaurant. "Here," he said flatly. He was not going to be involved in interrupting Thirteen's date. "Finish up your stalking."

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House's attention shifted back and forth between their mission and Foreman's interesting, poorly veiled reaction to his condom-discovery, once Foreman parked the car. Foreman hadn't said a word, which shouldn't have happened if there wasn't something more to these condoms than just condoms. House couldn't help but be intrigued, for a few reasons he'd never be admitting to Foreman in the span of this stalking escapade.

When Foreman finally opened his mouth, he sounded pissier than a woman with too many raging, ferocious hormones. House raised his eyebrows. "So we can get to real fun, you mean?"

House knew he was pushing, and he wanted to be careful not to push too hard and raise red flags in Foreman's mind. Stay casual, crude, his normal self. Normal jokes, so as not to raise some kind of suspicion. Keep the focus off himself, like he'd done for the last four years. Simple. He looked at Foreman with mock-sympathy. "Aw, did all this big-boy talk make you uncomfortable?"

He turned his head back to peer across the street, trying to see into the windows of the restaurant, before Foreman replied, but kept his ears open as he scanned the people at the tables.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman knew that House wasn't staring at him, that he was only interested in what was happening across the street, but it certainly felt like House was leaning into his space and studying him. He had no idea where all these jokes were coming from. House never minded making snide comments about Chase, but Foreman had mostly escaped that kind of notice. He must have said something--or not said enough--to draw House's attention to him. Either that, or it was just enforced closeness; he could swear he could smell apple fritter on House's breath. He was getting more and more tense, and he didn't know whether to defend himself even further or just leap out of the car, march into the restaurant, and haul Thirteen out so that House could get his stupid interrogation over with.

He bit his tongue when House just kept pushing. He bet he could show House more 'fun' than he'd had in two years at least. This time, though, he had the sense not to say anything.

Instead, Foreman peered at the restaurant. When he saw Thirteen, for the first time since he'd announced his guess, he felt in control again. She was eating with a woman, and leaning in across the table, smiling. There had to be something going on there. From the way House was still craning his neck, he hadn't seen her yet.

Seeing her, though, made Foreman realize what he was doing. House was stalking her because he wanted to know something, and what was he going to do with that? Make a few jokes. Make her uncomfortable. And the only reason it would work was because she was trying to hide it. So what the hell was he doing? Cuddy was his boss now, not House; and he'd survived four years of racist remarks and learned to not even react. He'd much rather be the one who had the upper hand. Show House exactly the sort of thing he dished out to everybody else.

"Yeah, your single entendres are really unnerving," he said, leaning back against the headrest. "I've seen you, House. You talk a big game, but you never follow through."

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman seemed--if House was reading him right--uncomfortable. Guarded. Well, when was Foreman not guarded, but, right now, he seemed especially so. Too quiet. House didn't know Foreman not to jump at the chance at a come-back, at proving he could one-up him and play his game, best him, and House couldn't help but feel suspicious over Foreman's silence. He had even more specific suspicions, too, considering Foreman had gotten quiet after House had found his condoms, which meant they were significant somehow. Or House's reaction had somehow been significant.

He peered at the restaurant, finally spotting Thirteen. With a woman. Nice. House's thoughts strayed from Foreman for a moment, noticing how Thirteen seemed to be very friendly with her companion, and watched for some indication that they knew each other...intimately. Or wanted to. Although, it was more than enough that House had seen her out, on a lunch date, with another woman. More than enough fodder against her at work, and he couldn't wait to broadcast her business all over the conference room.

He found his thoughts straying back to Foreman as he watched Thirteen, realizations slowly, almost imperceptibly falling into place. He looked from Thirteen to Foreman, making sure to invade Foreman's space even more, leaning over the shifter. Oh, this was good, he thought, and wondered how far he could push without revealing anything himself.

"And, you're suggesting that you would?" he asked, trying to be as dismissive and arrogant as possible. "Foreman, not taking the safe route. Not covering his ass." House paused for emphasis, just for fun, make the shot even more worth it, letting Foreman get an idea of his suspicions. "Yeah, I'd love to see that."

When it came right down to it, a part of him would. Foreman spent so much time playing it safe, not taking a risk when it counted, and he'd be interested to see how far he would go to prove him wrong. About something this personal. Something Foreman had managed to hide all throughout his fellowship. House actually had to privately give him props for that, but it was time for the truth to come out, because this was too good. If he got it out, it would be a two-for-one kind of day, and he'd have some great ammunition against Thirteen and Foreman. More than he'd hoped for; he'd almost given up on getting anything decent on Foreman, besides his juvenile record. Even better for himself if he could keep the attention away from himself. Keep his own secret from Foreman--although, now that he was thinking about it, he wasn't sure he wanted to, almost wanting to take selfish advantage of it all--but expose Foreman's.

"You know, I'm curious," he said, leaning even farther into Foreman's space. Now that he had some strong suspicions, that some pieces were falling into place, he was going to push, torture Foreman enough to stress the truth right out of him. Best way to do that, he thought, was to get right to the point. "How you were so sure about Thirteen. Now, I could chalk that up to unparalleled arrogance, some kind of desire to be like me. Or maybe it's something else." He let a smug grin slowly spread across his face. "What do you think?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the restaurant. "Maybe you really are speaking for experience. Maybe it has less to do with some keen powers of observation and more to do with your desire to do me."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

Foreman could tell the minute House spotted Thirteen. He moved even closer, leaning over the gearshift, one hand on the seat right next to Foreman's thigh. Foreman huffed out a breath and deliberately loosened his hands on the steering wheel. Even though he could feel House's breath against his neck, and the press of his shoulder against his, he figured he was safe. House would start fantasizing about Thirteen with her date--how often had House gone off about his lesbian porn?--and he wouldn't be thinking of Foreman at all. Which was the point. Of course.

A second later, House had proved him wrong. Again. As soon as House talked about him covering his ass, Foreman knew where he was going. His shoulders tensed and he clenched his jaw, anger working its way up--fuck House, anyway, for thinking that figuring something out immediately meant prodding at it, looking for a weak spot. And at this point it was a lost cause, he'd given himself away. Mentally cursing his moment of thinking he could get through House's comments unscathed, he finally burst when House said how he'd like to see him. "Yeah, I'll bet you would," he said, low and vicious.

What the hell was the point of this? He knew House was an emotional coward, that he'd never let anything happen that he couldn't control, but here he was, still fucking pushing, as if he was hoping for a reaction. House leaned in, and now Foreman could definitely feel the weight of his body, even though they were only touching at the shoulders. House was too close, too interested, bright eyes peering directly at him with a smug smirk plastered on his face. Foreman felt cornered. He was breathing hard, reacting to House's presence based on adrenaline alone. He wanted to shove him back, do anything to shut him up, but he wasn't going to hit him; he was better than that, better than this fucking interrogation.

"You don't care about Thirteen?" he asked, flinging one hand out, a last chance to get House off his case, because he knew that in a second he was going to do something stupid, take that risk House was so confident he'd never have the balls for. "Look, there she is, with a woman. But you're way more interested in me, aren't you? Not very straight, House, if you keep asking me to prove something to you."

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House couldn't clear the smirk off his face. This just kept getting better and better. He could tell he was already pushing Foreman, stressing him out easier than he'd hoped. Foreman was reacting strongly--breathing hard, staring at him with as intimidating a look as House had ever seen.

Foreman was right; he was very interested in Thirteen, and he'd been keeping his eye on her, but, so far, all he'd gotten were smiles. No touches. Nothing too incriminating. Of course, if he left the scene with nothing more than he already had, he could still put some pressure on Thirteen later, get her to admit the truth. Just as he was doing to Foreman, although Thirteen might actually be slightly more difficult to pressure than Foreman. Foreman was almost too easy, and he was very interested in what was going on in the car as much as in the restaurant.

He caught on to Foreman's tactic, and he'd expected it, but he refused to take the bait. He wouldn't let Foreman make this about him; this was about Foreman's personal life. "You're the one talking about fucking me, and you're telling me I'm 'not very straight'," House shot back. His mind was suddenly searching his memories, trying to recall something in his time with Foreman that he could use to goad him. He hit on a few interesting recollections, and got right in Foreman's face, making sure he could feel his breath when he spoke.

"So, tell me Foreman," House said, refusing to back down, or out of Foreman's space, putting as much pressure on as possible. "That drug rep, and what's-her-name, the white chick I found out you dated. A way to throw me off track? Not arouse any suspicion?" He stared him down, letting Foreman see just how much fun he planned to have with this new information. "Oh, this is good. Can't wait to spread this news."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

"Who I date is none of your business," Foreman said, his voice rising over House's. "Who I spend my time with is my choice, and it's never anything to do with you."

He let out a huff of laughter, shaking his head, but there was nothing funny behind it. Bringing up Wendy only served to remind him just how much House had obsessed over Wilson, how much he'd hated every instant that he thought Wilson wasn't entirely his any more. "Yeah, and it's not suspicious at all when a straight guy pines over the only man who's ever tolerated him," he said.

From House's expression, Foreman knew he was never going to let it go. He'd just made it House's business. And now House was going to spread it around like water cooler gossip, invade Foreman's privacy and shout it out to the whole world. Foreman wasn't going to take that from him, wasn't going to shut up under House's stupid scare tactics. And there was only one way he'd ever get House to stay silent.

Without thinking, hardly without moving since House was already so close, Foreman surged forward, pinned House against his seat with one hand on his shoulder, and kissed him. He let out a sound, his neck and back twinging at the movement, and then he got his other hand on House's good knee, effectively cutting off any leverage he might have had. He'd caught House with his mouth still open--still talking--and he deepened the kiss before he realized what he was doing, angry and insistent.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

House's smirk stayed firmly in place as Foreman responded, shouting at him. He knew he was right; no question now. A reaction this strong only meant he'd found a button to push. He'd never expected this when he'd started poking for information today, but Foreman had nobody to blame for this but himself. If he hadn't made that comment, hadn't kept a handful of condoms in the car, none of this probably would have happened. At least, not today. Probably eventually. But, for House, there was no better time, getting a gem like this right when Foreman had come back. This was like a 'welcome back' present.

Again, he ignored Foreman's bait, turned it around instead. "Not sure that applies anymore," House said smoothly, confidently. "You came back, and you like that you did. You're clearly able to tolerate me on--"

Before he really realized what the hell was happening, the rest of his sentence was muffled by Foreman's mouth covering his, kissing him in a ferocious, unexpected move. At first, House was too shocked to kiss back, a sharp noise squeaking out of his throat as Foreman pinned him, grabbing his shoulder and his knee, keeping him still. It took a second, the feel of Foreman's tongue pushing into his mouth, for House to kiss back, reacting to some never-admitted fantasies, the contact itself.

He wanted to one-up Foreman, even with this kiss, and fought to do it, having no leverage, unable to push with his body. He pressed one hand against Foreman's chest, digging his fingertips into firm muscle, and he kissed back roughly. He sucked on his bottom lip, biting down hard before wrenching his head back, pulling out of this kiss, breathing hard, his head fogged with shock, with a little bit of panic. He resisted the urge to propel himself out of the car, and sat back in his seat instead, forcing himself to stay where he was. An escape attempt would only prove he had something to run away from, and he'd already given himself away enough. Fuck. No chance of spreading any news now; Foreman had something to shoot right back. Damn.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

It wasn't until House started kissing him back that Foreman felt the consequences of his action slam home. Underneath his fury, he enjoyed it, House's roughness and the fierce energy of the kiss. That wasn't supposed to happen. None of it was. But the fact that House returned the kiss, that Foreman could feel his palm pressed against his chest, filled him with righteous satisfaction, his whole body heating with his smugness. So he wasn't the only one trying to hide something.

He started to grin into House's mouth, only to have House clamp his teeth down on his lip and tug before pulling back. "Fuck," Foreman said, lifting his fingers to his mouth. There wasn't any blood, though it felt like House had bitten his lip in two. He touched his lip, still warm and moist from the kiss, and stared down at House, whose breath was heaving as he pushed himself deeper into his seat, looking wide-eyed, as if he was searching for an escape.

Oh, Christ. Fuck. He'd kissed House. The realization hit Foreman in the solar plexus, and he couldn't breathe. His lip throbbed where House had bitten him, and he could feel his heartbeat racing. Nerves jangling, he tried to find some cover, some way to pretend that he wasn't affected. He sat back abruptly and turned the key in the ignition, starting the car so hastily that he nearly stalled it before he was able to pull out into traffic. He headed for the hospital--he wanted House out of his car as fast as possible, but he was not going to drive him home. "This is over," he said flatly, trying to forestall anything House might say. He'd been an idiot, and as soon as House regained the power of speech Foreman was sure he would say so, but for now all Foreman wanted was to ignore what had just happened.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

It took every iota of control House had to keep himself seated in the car. He wanted to tuck and roll out of the car; he'd get a cab back to the hospital, but he was too proud to give Foreman the satisfaction of a visible freak-out. He felt relief, though, when Foreman spoke and started the car, seeming as eager to get back to the hospital and out of his company as he was. He wasn't entirely sure what Foreman meant by "this" but he wasn't about to ask.

Once he'd gathered enough of his composure, he kept his mouth shut, refusing to address what had just happened. No need to talk about it. Nothing would come of it. It wouldn't happen again. House turned his head to stare out the window, already working on rationalizations. Maybe even some sort of threat to make sure Foreman kept this to himself. House didn't need anyone picking him apart at work; he did that to everyone else. He might be able to sidetrack people with this new information about Thirteen, but that could open the door for Foreman to let something "slip", just to spite him. He had to be careful.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

The few streets to the hospital passed in a blur.

House's silence was the most unnerving part. Foreman couldn't stop himself from glancing over, trying to do it as subtly as possible, even though House was staring pointedly out the opposite window. House looked the way he did in the middle of a tough case, when all his attention was focused on making half a dozen wildly disparate symptoms fit the same disease. Foreman couldn't even take comfort in the fact that apparently he'd surprised the hell out of House--he'd surprised the hell out of himself.

Foreman pulled up in front of the entrance to the clinic. House's motorcycle was parked a few spots away. This was it--kick House out, get through the rest of the weekend, and then endure Monday as the torture it would inevitably be. Foreman probably deserved it. He'd never been such an asshole in his life; House brought out the worst in him, but that was no excuse.

"I'm sorry," he said stiffly, furious that he needed to apologize for his behaviour. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the steering wheel. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lip that House had bitten--Christ, he couldn't get the image, the feeling, out of his mind--and then tried to brush it dry again with the back of his thumb. "That was unprofessional." Understatement of the fucking century, and so far from the point Foreman could hardly even believe he was saying the words. If House would just get out of the goddamn car, they could both work on forgetting this had ever happened.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

As House rode out the trip back to the hospital, he couldn't seem to keep his thoughts in order. He found himself running his tongue over his lips, replaying images in his head and trying to push them away. He tried to clear his mind, push everything away and forget about the last ten minutes. When the hospital came into view, he never felt so glad to see it, because the hospital meant his bike, and his bike meant his way home. Home meant a safe fortress of oblivion.

Once Foreman parked the car, House reached for the handle, not planning on any parting words; he just wanted to leave as quickly as possible, go home, drink a few glassfuls of bourbon, and try not to fantasize about anything. Make it an early night. But when Foreman spoke, actually apologizing, House stopped.

"It was," House said, finally turning his head to stare across the car at Foreman. Normally he'd avoid something like this, discussing something like this, and never mention it again under pain of death, but he recognized the chance to make Foreman uncomfortable about this, keep the attention away from himself. Since he was safely out of kissing distance, the extra push wouldn't pose a risk, he figured.

As he opened the door and swung his legs out, moving as calmly as possible, he twisted in his seat and looked over his shoulder. "But you're not sorry." He actually believed it, too, and he really wasn't sure what to think about that. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Without waiting for Foreman's response, he levered himself to his feet and slammed the car door, turning toward his bike without looking back.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

House's stare was completely humiliating. Foreman wasn't expecting House to accept his apology, but he wasn't expecting him to acknowledge it, either. The fact that he did was even worse. When House agreed that he'd been unprofessional, whether it was just a stab at revenge or not, Foreman knew that he'd gone too far.

House's last words rang in his ears longer than the slam of the car door. You're not sorry. Foreman let out a disgusted breath. Yeah, the kiss had been...good. He'd liked it. He'd liked making House react, but he knew it wasn't just that. He'd enjoyed it.

Foreman watched House heading for his motorcycle and speeding away, hating him for the way he just never stopped trying to tell people their own problems.

The real problem was, Foreman knew, that House was right.