It wasn't as if Foreman was trying to judge, but from what he could see, Amber's case really was the best of a dull lot. None of the candidates had NICU or pediatric specialties, so House--if he could be convinced to see reason--might actually wanting them treating an infant, where abnormal test results could be a function of age as much as condition. Brennan, when he finally came in with the last one, leaned over and muttered, "She's a drag racer. And she came here because of House."
"Doesn't mean he'll take it," Foreman said. By the time House showed up, the girl would probably be hydrated, and her symptoms would've disappeared just as quickly. Brennan's pick was the worst one, but of course House would take the car into account, Foreman had no doubt of that.
Mulling over the various cases, Foreman was just about to get out his cell and find out where in hell House had gotten to, when Amber piped up suggesting the exact damn thing. Foreman shot her an annoyed look. If he called House on her suggestion, everyone in the room would think it was because she'd asked, not because it was a good idea. Another twenty seconds and he'd have had House answering his phone, entirely on Foreman's initiative and authority. If he did the exact same thing now, he'd look like Amber had him even more whipped than he already knew he was. In the bedroom, he didn't care. On the job, it mattered. "And give him a chance to ignore us all morning?" he said. House coming in on his own initiative might be hard to predict, but it was more likely than him showing his face when Foreman asked him to.
He took his phone out, though, and let out an irked breath. Despite what he'd said, he'd rather do this the straightforward way, but Amber had tied his hands into playing this like one of House's games. He dialed Wilson's office, and when he answered, Foreman said briefly, "Tell him we've got a girl race car driver who asked for him specifically."
"Dragster," Brennan corrected.
Foreman glared at him--the kind of car didn't really matter, as long as it was shiny enough to catch House's magpie interest.
"He's already stolen my lunch, so he's around somewhere," Wilson said, with a certain bland resignation. "I'll pass on the message."
"Okay, thanks," Foreman said. He flipped his phone closed, tucked it into his pocket, and pointedly went back to his newspaper.
no subject
"Doesn't mean he'll take it," Foreman said. By the time House showed up, the girl would probably be hydrated, and her symptoms would've disappeared just as quickly. Brennan's pick was the worst one, but of course House would take the car into account, Foreman had no doubt of that.
Mulling over the various cases, Foreman was just about to get out his cell and find out where in hell House had gotten to, when Amber piped up suggesting the exact damn thing. Foreman shot her an annoyed look. If he called House on her suggestion, everyone in the room would think it was because she'd asked, not because it was a good idea. Another twenty seconds and he'd have had House answering his phone, entirely on Foreman's initiative and authority. If he did the exact same thing now, he'd look like Amber had him even more whipped than he already knew he was. In the bedroom, he didn't care. On the job, it mattered. "And give him a chance to ignore us all morning?" he said. House coming in on his own initiative might be hard to predict, but it was more likely than him showing his face when Foreman asked him to.
He took his phone out, though, and let out an irked breath. Despite what he'd said, he'd rather do this the straightforward way, but Amber had tied his hands into playing this like one of House's games. He dialed Wilson's office, and when he answered, Foreman said briefly, "Tell him we've got a girl race car driver who asked for him specifically."
"Dragster," Brennan corrected.
Foreman glared at him--the kind of car didn't really matter, as long as it was shiny enough to catch House's magpie interest.
"He's already stolen my lunch, so he's around somewhere," Wilson said, with a certain bland resignation. "I'll pass on the message."
"Okay, thanks," Foreman said. He flipped his phone closed, tucked it into his pocket, and pointedly went back to his newspaper.