"I was born having a bad day. I'm always testy," House said, feet up on his desk, not bothering to look up from his GameBoy. Electronic chirps and buzzes floated through his office. "Why is it such a big deal now?"
"Because you're taking it out on me," Foreman replied testily, flopping into the visitor's chair, "and I don't appreciate being your whipping boy, especially when it has nothing to do with a patient."
"Admit it, you love being my whipping boy. It makes you feel special."
"I never have and I never will, House. I'm not anybody's whipping boy."
"If I tell you it's because you're black, will you shut up and leave me alone?"
"It's not because I'm black. It's because you're an egotistical jackass who can't leave his personal problems at home."
"Don't hold back, Foreman. Say what you really mean."
"Why, so you can fire me?"
"No, because I want to hear what you have to say."
Foreman paused, caught off guard, then plunged head-first. "Whatever is going on between you and Cuddy, just leave it back at your apartment and don't bring it here."
"What makes you think it has anything to do with Cuddy?"
"She's the only one who can under your skin like that."
"Is that a fact? Did you come back from your near-death experience with super powers, Dr. Foreman? I'm thinking of a number between one and ten. What is it?"
"Please, can we have a serious discussion here?"
"Guess the number I'm thinking of, Dr. Demento, and I might consider it."
"If I guess it right...?"
That got House's attention. "I'll take two of your clinic hours. If you're wrong, you get two of mine." He tore of a scrap of paper, scribble on it, folded it and put it under his pencil caddy. "There's nothing going on between Cuddy and I that can't be fixed. And in case I didn't tell you before, it's none of your business what goes on between us after hours. I can't help it if she finds me so fucking irresistible. You know what they say about guys with big canes."
"It becomes my business when you take your frustrations out on me," Foreman said pointedly. "If you want to beat me over the head because I screwed up with a diagnosis or misread a chart, feel free. I don't bother you with my girlfriend troubles, you shouldn't bother me with yours."
"Are you sure I'm bothering you with my girlfriend troubles or are you just mad because I'm picking on poor little Foreman since he's feeling oh-so-vulnerable right now because he's been emasculated by his ball-busting sweetheart."
"It's Cuddy. And the number is four."
"Is that your final answer, Eric?"
"Yes. It's four."
House slid the scrap out from under the caddy, unfolded it and held it up for Foreman to see. A big number eight was visible from across the room. "Better luck next time. You can take my hours on Tuesday. In the meantime, get your balls out of your girlfriend's pocket. She's turning you into a wuss. The old Foreman wouldn't have asked me, he would have demanded. When you're here, you are to be a doctor. Be a eunuch on your own time."
"Did you really call Foreman a eunuch?" Cuddy asked, exasperated.
"Yes," House answered nonchalantly as he entered her home, carrying a sack of burgers. He smiled when he noticed Cuddy eyeing it hungrily.
"Why?"
"Because I felt like it."
"Was this a one-time thing or is that a label you plan to give all the doctors around here sooner or later?"
"Being a good doctor means expecting the unexpected," he said while watching her get two plates from the kitchen cabinet. "Foreman is a good doctor, therefore, it's part of my job to keep him on his toes."
"Do you have to insult him to do that?"
"I don't, but I do anyway," House replied, dropping a burger on a plate while Cuddy retreated back to the kitchen to get drinks. "If you want my team to be bored to death and drooling in a corner, I can arrange that. Or maybe Foreman and I could meet in your office tomorrow and I can call him a pansy-assed girly-man. Will that make it all better?"
"That's enough, Greg," she said curtly, smacking the glasses and soda down on the table. "The personal insults against your doctors, any doctors, stop right here. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, boss." He wolfed down half his meal before asking, "How are you doing today, Lisa?"
"Fine, thank you."
"Just fine? A woman such as yourself should be able to come up more than fine."
"I'm smashing. How's that?"
"Not too bad. Now why don't you tell me how you're really doing today."
"I spent most of the day thinking," she said with tiny frown she tried to hide behind her glass of soda.
"About what?"
"What could have been. What might have happened. You know what I mean."
"I believe I do," he said with a sigh. "Just let me know when you decide to stop thinking about 'what might have been' and start thinking about 'where do we go from here'. Take your time. I'll be waiting."
