If they could all keep out of House's way, that might be the best of all. At the very least, Foreman could tell the candidates to make themselves useful in the clinic. Cuddy was chronically understaffed, which was the only reason she dragged department heads down when usually, for everyone but House, they had more pressing business. In general terms, Foreman knew the extent of House's backlog of hours. Getting any of them worked wouldn't earn his goodwill, but it might lessen his sarcasm. "Yeah," he said. "House wants room to play games. He'll probably be happy with me running the department, as long as it's not in name." And as long as Foreman didn't try to get in the way of House's treatment decisions. Foreman didn't love paperwork, but if he cleaned up House's act, he could always bring that fact to Cuddy if he ever needed to.
He followed Amber out of the elevator, his mind already on the various ways he could make a point of organizing Diagnostics without going so far that House would take notice. Well, anything Foreman did, House would notice, but as long as he didn't feel like Foreman was stepping on his toes, he'd turn a blind eye. He stopped in the doorway and frowned at Amber's casual declaration. A second later, he pushed himself forward again, letting the door close, but his walk slowed as he headed for his car. "I can't stop that," he said, glancing at her and feeling completely at a loss.
He had no clue what Amber wanted him to say. House had been telling racist jokes from the day Foreman started work, gleeful as a little kid poking his brother to try and start a wrestling match. As if that was all it meant, some stupid childish scuffle, as if hearing that kind of shit day in and day out didn't matter. Foreman refused to react--at least, as much as he wanted to. Christ, there had been times when he'd nearly bitten his tongue in half not rising to the bait. What did Amber want? For him to console her because House was a bastard? She was cutthroat. Of course House would delight in telling her so to her face.
Tell her that being called a name was a terrible thing? She'd signed up for this crap. Not to mention, she'd already adopted more than enough of House's methods, happily pulling down everyone around her, plotting against the people she was supposed to work with. She'd admitted as much last night, tried to pull Foreman in to her schemes. He wanted her to win, yeah--he wanted her to get the job. He'd help her with that. But he didn't need to do it by approving of the way she exploited everyone's weaknesses. Being a good doctor should be all that counted.
And he was dreaming if he believed that. Being a good doctor was the bare minimum of House's standards. The rest: fuck everyone else, the answer was all that mattered. Foreman took out his keys to unlock the car doors. He couldn't help it if Amber's feelings were hurt. He'd love to protect her, and keep her shielded from their opinions, but he'd thought she loved making enemies. Loved shoving being right in their faces. "Isn't that how you play the game?" he asked--cautiously, but unable to completely hide his disdain that it was a game at all.
no subject
He followed Amber out of the elevator, his mind already on the various ways he could make a point of organizing Diagnostics without going so far that House would take notice. Well, anything Foreman did, House would notice, but as long as he didn't feel like Foreman was stepping on his toes, he'd turn a blind eye. He stopped in the doorway and frowned at Amber's casual declaration. A second later, he pushed himself forward again, letting the door close, but his walk slowed as he headed for his car. "I can't stop that," he said, glancing at her and feeling completely at a loss.
He had no clue what Amber wanted him to say. House had been telling racist jokes from the day Foreman started work, gleeful as a little kid poking his brother to try and start a wrestling match. As if that was all it meant, some stupid childish scuffle, as if hearing that kind of shit day in and day out didn't matter. Foreman refused to react--at least, as much as he wanted to. Christ, there had been times when he'd nearly bitten his tongue in half not rising to the bait. What did Amber want? For him to console her because House was a bastard? She was cutthroat. Of course House would delight in telling her so to her face.
Tell her that being called a name was a terrible thing? She'd signed up for this crap. Not to mention, she'd already adopted more than enough of House's methods, happily pulling down everyone around her, plotting against the people she was supposed to work with. She'd admitted as much last night, tried to pull Foreman in to her schemes. He wanted her to win, yeah--he wanted her to get the job. He'd help her with that. But he didn't need to do it by approving of the way she exploited everyone's weaknesses. Being a good doctor should be all that counted.
And he was dreaming if he believed that. Being a good doctor was the bare minimum of House's standards. The rest: fuck everyone else, the answer was all that mattered. Foreman took out his keys to unlock the car doors. He couldn't help it if Amber's feelings were hurt. He'd love to protect her, and keep her shielded from their opinions, but he'd thought she loved making enemies. Loved shoving being right in their faces. "Isn't that how you play the game?" he asked--cautiously, but unable to completely hide his disdain that it was a game at all.