Foreman had never been good at dealing with humiliation. This was worse. Mortification. He was a private person, and he'd never let House or anyone else work their way this deeply into his personal life. More than anything, he regretted that he'd let Amber see so much. That he'd trusted her. He was certain that she was going to break that trust now.
He wanted to blame Amber. That would at least make it simple. She was the one who'd caught House's attention. Made him start guessing. Fuck, at least Foreman could hide what he felt--if not from Amber, then from House. That bastard considered them all his toys, and Foreman had always been determined to give him as little satisfaction as he could, to make sure that House learned the least about him. The only times he'd broken that resolution were the moments when showing House some part of his personal life worked out so that Foreman could get the better of him. Show him up. Prove that House didn't have all the answers, that his fucking deductions weren't always on target.
Amber was the one who'd put them on the target this time. She'd made House curious, and there was nothing more dangerous than that. He'd be hounding them for days now, weeks, putting Foreman on the spot and asking, in his stupid insinuating voice, whether he liked strong women, whether he'd really slept with Amber or if she'd slipped a little something in his drink and taken advantage. Right now that was exactly what it felt like, that she'd taken advantage, but even as he thought it Foreman knew it was a lie. They'd both enjoyed themselves. It had been good. House would try his damnedest to ruin it, the way he ruined everything--Foreman's career included--but Foreman wasn't willing to let him. He wasn't willing to turn this into some Prisonner's Dilemma; he had more integrity than to start telling lurid stories about Amber for anyone's amusement, least of all House's. The problem was, he didn't know if Amber felt the same way. He suspected she'd be more than happy to let all the details spill out, catch House's prurient interest. Foreman stared at her, the laughter of the other candidates fading as he concentrated on her. He shook his head, as slightly as possible, wanting to ask her--to beg her, and fuck, she really was the one in control; Foreman had no power to influence anything she decided she wanted to do--he wanted her not to speak, not, for God's sake, to tell everyone in the room what she'd done to him. That would be tantamount to telling the whole fucking hospital. Foreman was miserable enough here as it was. He didn't need the snickers behind his back, people whispering that he took it up the ass. That he'd liked it. That felt like the biggest betrayal of all, from his own goddamn body.
Amber started speaking, and Foreman clenched his jaw, glaring down, waiting for House's scorn, the laughter from the rest of the candidates--the people he was supposed to be in charge of, as if they'd ever accept his authority now--but it didn't come. Foreman met Amber's eyes after she hesitated, anger still burning in his chest, but at least she hadn't said more than necessary. At least that.
It was still bad enough. House started in on the jokes immediately. Fury stopped Foreman from answering him, and he wasn't going to run out of the room as if he couldn't handle this. He needed an escape.
It came in the form of half a dozen pagers going off at once. Foreman unclipped his from his belt automatically. "The patient's crashing," he said. He looked up at the candidates, all of them clearly still hanging on the more amusing drama in front of them. "Get going," he snapped, and without waiting to see if they'd jump at his order, he stalked out of the room.
no subject
He wanted to blame Amber. That would at least make it simple. She was the one who'd caught House's attention. Made him start guessing. Fuck, at least Foreman could hide what he felt--if not from Amber, then from House. That bastard considered them all his toys, and Foreman had always been determined to give him as little satisfaction as he could, to make sure that House learned the least about him. The only times he'd broken that resolution were the moments when showing House some part of his personal life worked out so that Foreman could get the better of him. Show him up. Prove that House didn't have all the answers, that his fucking deductions weren't always on target.
Amber was the one who'd put them on the target this time. She'd made House curious, and there was nothing more dangerous than that. He'd be hounding them for days now, weeks, putting Foreman on the spot and asking, in his stupid insinuating voice, whether he liked strong women, whether he'd really slept with Amber or if she'd slipped a little something in his drink and taken advantage. Right now that was exactly what it felt like, that she'd taken advantage, but even as he thought it Foreman knew it was a lie. They'd both enjoyed themselves. It had been good. House would try his damnedest to ruin it, the way he ruined everything--Foreman's career included--but Foreman wasn't willing to let him. He wasn't willing to turn this into some Prisonner's Dilemma; he had more integrity than to start telling lurid stories about Amber for anyone's amusement, least of all House's. The problem was, he didn't know if Amber felt the same way. He suspected she'd be more than happy to let all the details spill out, catch House's prurient interest. Foreman stared at her, the laughter of the other candidates fading as he concentrated on her. He shook his head, as slightly as possible, wanting to ask her--to beg her, and fuck, she really was the one in control; Foreman had no power to influence anything she decided she wanted to do--he wanted her not to speak, not, for God's sake, to tell everyone in the room what she'd done to him. That would be tantamount to telling the whole fucking hospital. Foreman was miserable enough here as it was. He didn't need the snickers behind his back, people whispering that he took it up the ass. That he'd liked it. That felt like the biggest betrayal of all, from his own goddamn body.
Amber started speaking, and Foreman clenched his jaw, glaring down, waiting for House's scorn, the laughter from the rest of the candidates--the people he was supposed to be in charge of, as if they'd ever accept his authority now--but it didn't come. Foreman met Amber's eyes after she hesitated, anger still burning in his chest, but at least she hadn't said more than necessary. At least that.
It was still bad enough. House started in on the jokes immediately. Fury stopped Foreman from answering him, and he wasn't going to run out of the room as if he couldn't handle this. He needed an escape.
It came in the form of half a dozen pagers going off at once. Foreman unclipped his from his belt automatically. "The patient's crashing," he said. He looked up at the candidates, all of them clearly still hanging on the more amusing drama in front of them. "Get going," he snapped, and without waiting to see if they'd jump at his order, he stalked out of the room.