Foreman ignored all of House's stories about what Amber had done before he'd met her. Like he'd said, he knew what she was capable of. He'd already admitted that he knew Amber might screw him over, but that didn't mean he thought she would. Capable and willing were two different things. Maybe that was why he was able to be happy, even knowing that. Foreman trusted her, and it wasn't because he expected her to change, it was because he expected her to be honest. Not just about what opportunities came her way, but about how she felt. That was it, really. She'd been more honest last night. She'd let Foreman see her even when she wasn't in control.
He frowned sharply when House brought up Wendy. He hadn't told Amber about her, and he could just imagine House dropping the wrong word in her ear at the wrong point. Something about their deathless love, when really it'd just been a couple of months of dating. House would never fucking accept that he knew nothing about it. Foreman wasn't going to get into an argument about his exes. House had to know he had enough ammunition to fight that battle just as well. How would House like it if Foreman brought up Stacy Warner, started asking insinuating questions about why House couldn't make it with her even after her husband was even more crippled than House was--was it just because Mark Warner was better? The question was on the tip of his tongue, ready to be fired off angrily, and Foreman gritted his teeth to hold it back. Yeah, he could hurt House, that had never been in question; Foreman knew enough about House's skeletons that he could make some pointed guesses that would probably pay off. But that would make him into House. He wasn't going to descend to House's goddamn pettiness.
What the hell did it matter what he liked or what Amber liked? God, when they'd gotten into Amber's apartment--when Foreman had felt like he'd never be able to smother the boil of his anger at Marcus, when he'd felt desperate enough to push--Amber had...hadn't done anything more than demand what she wanted, slowed him down, drawn the limits, and Foreman had never been so damn glad of someone defining some portion of the world. Black and white, right and wrong, no fucking grey areas, and if he stepped out of line she told him so. Made it easy. There'd been nothing like working for House, when being right meant hurting people; or Mercy, where being right meant getting his ass fired for no fucking good reason. Being right, doing the right thing, when he was with Amber--it was the right thing, it was that simple, it let them both get what they wanted, and it felt so goddamn good.
Not like around House. House twisted everything Foreman said, insinuated the opposite of what he meant, and Foreman was fucking tired of it. His muscles knotted, his heart beating anger through his body. "Is there some problem, House?" he said tightly. He hadn't missed the fact that House hadn't answered his question about whether he was just jealous. House wouldn't answer, he'd just keep pushing, because that was all he knew how to do, even when there was no fucking point. "My life outside of this hospital isn't your business. Unless you're concerned about my misery, which I doubt, then you can keep your damn speculations to yourself."
no subject
He frowned sharply when House brought up Wendy. He hadn't told Amber about her, and he could just imagine House dropping the wrong word in her ear at the wrong point. Something about their deathless love, when really it'd just been a couple of months of dating. House would never fucking accept that he knew nothing about it. Foreman wasn't going to get into an argument about his exes. House had to know he had enough ammunition to fight that battle just as well. How would House like it if Foreman brought up Stacy Warner, started asking insinuating questions about why House couldn't make it with her even after her husband was even more crippled than House was--was it just because Mark Warner was better? The question was on the tip of his tongue, ready to be fired off angrily, and Foreman gritted his teeth to hold it back. Yeah, he could hurt House, that had never been in question; Foreman knew enough about House's skeletons that he could make some pointed guesses that would probably pay off. But that would make him into House. He wasn't going to descend to House's goddamn pettiness.
What the hell did it matter what he liked or what Amber liked? God, when they'd gotten into Amber's apartment--when Foreman had felt like he'd never be able to smother the boil of his anger at Marcus, when he'd felt desperate enough to push--Amber had...hadn't done anything more than demand what she wanted, slowed him down, drawn the limits, and Foreman had never been so damn glad of someone defining some portion of the world. Black and white, right and wrong, no fucking grey areas, and if he stepped out of line she told him so. Made it easy. There'd been nothing like working for House, when being right meant hurting people; or Mercy, where being right meant getting his ass fired for no fucking good reason. Being right, doing the right thing, when he was with Amber--it was the right thing, it was that simple, it let them both get what they wanted, and it felt so goddamn good.
Not like around House. House twisted everything Foreman said, insinuated the opposite of what he meant, and Foreman was fucking tired of it. His muscles knotted, his heart beating anger through his body. "Is there some problem, House?" he said tightly. He hadn't missed the fact that House hadn't answered his question about whether he was just jealous. House wouldn't answer, he'd just keep pushing, because that was all he knew how to do, even when there was no fucking point. "My life outside of this hospital isn't your business. Unless you're concerned about my misery, which I doubt, then you can keep your damn speculations to yourself."