Amber was out of the patient’s room like a shot, striding quickly until she’d overtaken Foreman. He had to lengthen his stride to keep up with the tap of her heels as she made her way around patients and porters’ carts. Foreman found himself grinning and then calling himself an idiot for it. The fight lay between them, all the battlelines drawn, and just because they’d called a ceasefire didn’t mean that he might not end up losing the war. Amber might demand that he forgive her. Not by asking him directly, but by assuming that he’d accepted what she’d done. So he’d spilled his guts and admitted he didn’t truly believe he belonged here; that didn’t mean she’d listened, or that she’d respect what he’d said. Did it even register with her that the way she’d broken his trust was, in his mind anyway, completely separate from the medical issue? What she did as House’s candidate, he didn’t care about: they’d resolved that one early on, when he’d realized he couldn’t rein her in when it came to her schemes. Okay, he’d accepted that. But going behind his back was still a problem for him. What if it wasn’t just about the medicine? What if it was expedient some day for her to stab him in the back on a personal level?
Still, he liked the idea of taking the rest of the day off, as unrealistic as it sounded. Foreman nodded, though, at the mention of paperwork. He’d have to report Brennan to Cuddy before she had an unexpected lawsuit on her hands, and how they were going to explain the situation to Casey and her father was probably something best left in her hands. At this point, they didn’t know--they thought there was some kind of polio miracle still at work--and Foreman grabbed on to Amber’s imperious invitation like a stranded swimmer grabbing a life raft. House had hired the guy; he could face Cuddy’s wrath if she needed to spread it around. “Sounds good,” he said, unable to completely repress a smile as he glanced sideways at her. She looked fierce, like the first person to get in her way would be mown down, but Foreman suspected some of that was her own uncertainty. She’d been hesitant when he’d explained himself. Wary. She’d even thought it was over, without more from him except the fact that he’d turned her down for sex. Foreman was beginning to see a lot of her strength as a cover. Not that she wasn’t really strong, because she was. But that there was more to it, to her reasons, than he’d suspected at first. “Here, or Mickey’s?” he asked. The cafeteria would have the benefit of being transparent: nothing going on, nothing to see, just coffee. But Mickey’s wasn’t far away, they both had their pagers, and Foreman wanted the chance to touch her--even if it was just to hold her hand across a linoleum-topped table.
no subject
Still, he liked the idea of taking the rest of the day off, as unrealistic as it sounded. Foreman nodded, though, at the mention of paperwork. He’d have to report Brennan to Cuddy before she had an unexpected lawsuit on her hands, and how they were going to explain the situation to Casey and her father was probably something best left in her hands. At this point, they didn’t know--they thought there was some kind of polio miracle still at work--and Foreman grabbed on to Amber’s imperious invitation like a stranded swimmer grabbing a life raft. House had hired the guy; he could face Cuddy’s wrath if she needed to spread it around. “Sounds good,” he said, unable to completely repress a smile as he glanced sideways at her. She looked fierce, like the first person to get in her way would be mown down, but Foreman suspected some of that was her own uncertainty. She’d been hesitant when he’d explained himself. Wary. She’d even thought it was over, without more from him except the fact that he’d turned her down for sex. Foreman was beginning to see a lot of her strength as a cover. Not that she wasn’t really strong, because she was. But that there was more to it, to her reasons, than he’d suspected at first. “Here, or Mickey’s?” he asked. The cafeteria would have the benefit of being transparent: nothing going on, nothing to see, just coffee. But Mickey’s wasn’t far away, they both had their pagers, and Foreman wanted the chance to touch her--even if it was just to hold her hand across a linoleum-topped table.