A/N: Hi peoples! So this is a oneshot I wrote a really long time ago. I actually wrote it on my desktop computer, which proceeded to break, but luckily not before I printed this story up, then...well it's a long, boring story. But I did post this once, but I realized that there were alot of missing words (for no apparent reason, in the middle of sentences.) so I took it down, forgot about it, and just found it again today. Anyways, I wrote this before Kutner died (R.I.P. Kutner, you are missed) so it's a little ironic what happens, but unintentionally so. And just as a last note, there is Foreman bashing so don't like, don't read.
With Foreman, there had never been any talking.
Actually, there had been plenty of talking. Maybe even too much talking (on his part and not on hers, because it seemed as if she could never get a word in edgewise.) But they had never talked about anything important,and that bothered her.
He would take her out to dinner at nice places, and they dressed nicely, and he ordered the nice wine just to prove to her that he could afford it. And they would talk. They would talk about work, and co-workers. They would talk about current events, and sometimes have friendly debates if they didn't see eye to eye on certain subjects. And later, back at her apartment (she had never gotten used to calling it "their" apartment, because it wasn't. It was her apartment, and she hated that he stayed their so often because he put her things out of order and she couldn't stand it when her things were out of order.) they might even talk about her Huntington's, and her bleak future. But that wasn't important. They never talked about anything important, and sometimes Remy even felt like they weren't talking at all. Or at least, she wasn't. Talking had become an almost involuntary response to being spoken to. Her brain registered that someone was talking to her and it quickly came up with a response. She never truly thought about what she was saying anymore, she trusted the word vomit her brain came up with.
For awhile that was nice. She found it refreshing to let her mind wander and still look like she was paying attention (It was something she had only recently perfected. Her teachers in school had never bought her "politely interested" face). Lost in herself, Remy thought about important things, and didn't bother with the things Foreman liked to talk about. But that got lonely quickly. Suddenly, she was aware of just how wrong things were.
She didn't like the restaurants they went to. She never had, the food was only mediocre and the atmosphere was stuffy. She didn't like dressing up either. The clothes were uncomfortable and expensive, and there were too many fashion rules to keep up with at all times. She didn't even like the wine he picked. It was too bitter, or it was too sweet, and it was always overpriced.
But the conversation was the worst. She could only listen to so many stories about "the good old days" when Cameron and Chase had held the other two fellowship positions, and they had worked together like a "real team" to get things done. She would nod her way through them, trying not to fall asleep in her salad and wonder just when she could get home. And then she would remember that it wasn't really her home anymore. Because now her clothes were shoved into the corner of the closet they had once 'filled because Foreman's suits "needed space" so they didn't get wrinkled. Remy now had to get up an hour earlier to iron her clothes. And the overstuffed comforter she had loved so much was shoved under the bed because Foreman was a hot sleeper and only liked sheets and a light blanket, and he would sleep as far away from her on the bed as possible, and she would only get a fraction of the sleep she used to get because she was shivering and at the same time worrying that maybe she wasn't just cold, but actually starting to get tremors from her Huntington's. But she never mentioned that, or anything else, because she kind of hated Foreman's voice now, and didn't want to give him any more reason to talk.
And then he was gone.
The note he had left behind was apologizing to her, because he loved her very much and it wasn't her fault, but there were things in his life he just couldn't deal with anymore. And she had wondered for a second if he had ever mentioned any of these things to her when they were talking, but deduced that he hadn't. He had never talked about himself, only about her, and that was his mistake. But she wasn't upset. She may even have been a little relieved. He had become too much for her to take. If he hadn't killed himself,she might have just done it for him.
But she kept an air of sorrow about herself,because she knew that they were all expecting her to be upset. After all, her boyfriend had just killed himself. So she forced herself to look sad. She had even pretended to get teary-eyed once or twice. And it must have been convincing, because they all bought it. They all felt their heart ache a little bit when she would smile sadly at them and say that she was fine, really. And they had each at one time said, "Poor Dr. Hadley." or "Poor Thirteen" or "Damn, boyfriend kills himself after going out with her for three months, that's gotta be a blow to the ego." (House had said this once while Remy had been in earshot and she had pretended to ignore it while Wilson had looked horrified and Cuddy had immediately scolded him for saying such a thing while Remy was around.)
But there was one person who hadnever offered his condolences. Remy felt like he was staring into her soul, and she could tell he saw right through her act. Suddenly, she was wondering why she had never paid much attention to him before, and why he had never asked her out. After observing him for a week, she came to the conclusion that he never would ask her out, because he was shy and because he obviously didn't trust his judgement of her enough to make a move when there was a possibility she really was still mourning her dead boyfriend. But Remy wasn't mourning and was ready to move on, so she asked him out. He said yes.
They rarely went out to fancy places, and when they did he knew which places were good and which ones weren't. It had been excessive when Foreman had taken her out every night, but with him it was a treat because there was always a new dress or necklace to accompany the dinner. Like Foreman he knew nothing about wine, but unlike Foreman he admitted that he didn't. So she picked the wine and they both enjoyed it, and it was never too bitter or too sweet.
But they mostly stayed in, wearing comfortable clothes. They would drink beer and curl up on the couch and watch movies together. And late at night, when they were both half drunk and half asleep, and the credits of the movie were rolling, he would scoop her into his arms and carry her to bed. She didn't have trouble sleeping anymore, because he liked her overstuffed comforter, and anyways he liked it when she snuggled up with him and would wrap his arms around her, and she would melt into him, thinking that it could be twenty below zero and she would still be warm because his arms were so safe and strong around her.
The golden glow of the sun was always just starting to appear when they would lay in bed, her cheek resting against his chest so that she could hear the deep even rhythm of his heartbeat , and talk about important things. They talked about the things they wanted to do, and the places they wanted to go. They planned dream vacations, and they would close their eyes and try to picture themselves on some exotic beach, or in a rainforest somewhere. They would smile and laugh, and think that maybe someday they could get away from work and do all of the things they talked about. They could travel the world, enjoy it as best they could. They could leave everyone else behind, leave the whole world behind, and escape into their own world.
They never talked about her Huntington's. It wasn't important. They only liked to talk about the important things in the little time they had together. Sometimes they didn't even have enough time to think about those. Because every morning the alarm would finally sound, and they knew they had to get up. So they would drag themselves out of bed, and into the shower. Then they would come out and dress for work. There was no ironing required, they split the closet equally and neither of their clothes got wrinkled. She didn't straighten her hair anymore, she knew he liked it curly.
They arrived at work on time. They always arrived on time. Arriving late would give House reason to bother them, to say that their relationship was affecting their work. But it wasn't. At work, they worked. They didn't talk out loud about anything other than the patient, but they talked with their eyes and with their smiles, and that was just as important as the things they said in the safety of their own apartment.
With Foreman, there had never been any talking.
With Kutner, there was just enough.
A/N: Review?