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.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-11-07 08:54 am (UTC)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.