Foreman rolled his eyes. Just like he'd thought: Chase wasn't any more imaginative that to suggest the same technique that he'd used until he'd...Foreman didn't even know. Humiliated himself enough in front of Cameron? Worn down her patience? He didn't know how repetition could finally uncover hidden feelings that had been there all along. Either you felt them or you didn't. But then, he didn't understand Cameron. That wasn't new. He'd thought he understood Chase, at least a little better, but he wasn't sure about that when Chase claimed not to get why House would possibly want to play cat and mouse with him.
"He's House," he said. "And Cuddy just put me in charge of the department without telling him. You think he's going to pat me on the head, congratulate me, and hope that we'll be happy?" A headache throbbed in his temples. The pain spiked higher when Foreman clenched his jaw. "He's going to want to jerk me around to see if I'll quit. And he doesn't have to do anything outside the parameters of his psychopathic little game. He only has to tell Amber it's the job or me." The cafeteria table was scratched. Foreman leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, not taking his eyes off its surface. It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and it sounded even more damning, more true, when he heard his own voice saying the words. If Chase had met Amber, or new enough about her to set the odds in yesterday's pool, then he'd know why Foreman wouldn't even get a chance.
"Keep making up, right," he said dully. "That doesn't work if I'm not what she wants." She'd pushed him aside last night... Foreman let out a breath. No. That had been over sex, over her feeling comfortable. She'd curled up with him afterward. Close, and feeling so goddamn good against him. She'd said long-term. She'd implied that she wanted this. Foreman simply didn't know how much he could trust that, how much Amber would want that now that he'd said the wrong thing today. "I don't want her to change," he muttered, not really even talking to Chase anymore. That was the problem. He wasn't always comfortable with her decisions, but he didn't want to demand that she do anything differently. She'd be different, then. And he wanted her as she was. He liked her as she was.
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"He's House," he said. "And Cuddy just put me in charge of the department without telling him. You think he's going to pat me on the head, congratulate me, and hope that we'll be happy?" A headache throbbed in his temples. The pain spiked higher when Foreman clenched his jaw. "He's going to want to jerk me around to see if I'll quit. And he doesn't have to do anything outside the parameters of his psychopathic little game. He only has to tell Amber it's the job or me." The cafeteria table was scratched. Foreman leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, not taking his eyes off its surface. It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and it sounded even more damning, more true, when he heard his own voice saying the words. If Chase had met Amber, or new enough about her to set the odds in yesterday's pool, then he'd know why Foreman wouldn't even get a chance.
"Keep making up, right," he said dully. "That doesn't work if I'm not what she wants." She'd pushed him aside last night... Foreman let out a breath. No. That had been over sex, over her feeling comfortable. She'd curled up with him afterward. Close, and feeling so goddamn good against him. She'd said long-term. She'd implied that she wanted this. Foreman simply didn't know how much he could trust that, how much Amber would want that now that he'd said the wrong thing today. "I don't want her to change," he muttered, not really even talking to Chase anymore. That was the problem. He wasn't always comfortable with her decisions, but he didn't want to demand that she do anything differently. She'd be different, then. And he wanted her as she was. He liked her as she was.