Why should I believe you? Those words, spoken quietly, still managed to feel cutting and cold. Foreman turned away from Amber slightly, so she wouldn't see any sign of it on his face. He should be above any accusations like that. If she didn't trust him, then she didn't trust him, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was his fault, but he still felt like she was putting too much of the blame on him. As if he should have ruined their morning together by bringing this shit up, when in any ordinary department, it wouldn't matter nearly this much. Amber shouldn't be able to hurt him at all. What she thought of him shouldn't matter. But the more she showed how much he'd managed to hurt her with that one omission, the worse he felt. Guilty and defensive. "I didn't want to lie to you," he said, matching her quiet tone, feeling resentful that she clearly wouldn't believe him again. "I'm sorry I did. I'm not lying now--"
Before he could finish, she burst out with a defense of her tactics. Foreman clenched his jaw, shaking his head through her recitation. "You're here because he's playing with you," he snapped. Christ, did she think he didn't know? He'd spent three years as House's glorified chewtoy, and all he had to show for it was a resume that was toxic to every hospital on the Eastern Seaboard. He was pissed off, and hurt, and he wasn't interested in sugar-coating the truth. "This is a game, and you don't win by being the best. You win because you amuse House. I hope you enjoy jumping through his hoops, but personally, I'm sick of it."
They'd reached the labs, and Foreman left Amber behind to go in and set up the test. The patient seemed to understandd Foreman's instructions, putting the breathing tube in his mouth and getting up on the treadmill. Even if the methacholine challenge was invalidated by the neurological symptoms, House would still want to know that they'd run it, and what the results were. Foreman took a deep breath, trying to push away his anger, and then he joined Amber in the control booth.
no subject
Before he could finish, she burst out with a defense of her tactics. Foreman clenched his jaw, shaking his head through her recitation. "You're here because he's playing with you," he snapped. Christ, did she think he didn't know? He'd spent three years as House's glorified chewtoy, and all he had to show for it was a resume that was toxic to every hospital on the Eastern Seaboard. He was pissed off, and hurt, and he wasn't interested in sugar-coating the truth. "This is a game, and you don't win by being the best. You win because you amuse House. I hope you enjoy jumping through his hoops, but personally, I'm sick of it."
They'd reached the labs, and Foreman left Amber behind to go in and set up the test. The patient seemed to understandd Foreman's instructions, putting the breathing tube in his mouth and getting up on the treadmill. Even if the methacholine challenge was invalidated by the neurological symptoms, House would still want to know that they'd run it, and what the results were. Foreman took a deep breath, trying to push away his anger, and then he joined Amber in the control booth.