AN: Changed the rating due to the addition of one little word. Seems silly, but better safe than sorry.
Two months had passed since he'd first read about Dr House's return to Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. Eric Foreman was stymied. He'd never been a patient man; he'd always gotten the answer he wanted within a very short time. He'd rationalized for weeks that Dr House was busy; that he was ill, tired. Maybe he'd already hired, and they hadn't changed the listing. Maybe he'd taken another sabbatical. Maybe he'd moved out of the country and was living under an assumed name in a hut while he researched the cure for Ebola.
Okay. That one didn't make much sense. The guy was in chronic pain. Huts were probably out of the question.
Still.
Sitting out on the patio at Josie's café for the fifth morning in a row, Eric listlessly finished his coffee and contemplated his next move. His lease had expired. His landlord had taken to watching his door and following him up and down the hallway haranguing him about moving out or signing a new lease. He shook his head. There was nothing for it: he'd need to take one of the other positions. But he couldn't let go of it. He'd imagined—hell, fantasized—about taking the job in Princeton. He'd built complex cases in his mind and envisioned himself running gels and debating symptoms with one of the world's top medical minds. He'd seen pride and relief—yes, relief—in Dr. House's eyes when he realized he'd hired the right fellow for the remaining position. He sighed loudly, and threw back the rest of his coffee. California, then. Marty Price had been a good guy to work for. Resuming his practice there would hardly be a step down; even if he'd detested the heat. He deleted his inbox and moved the arrow to hover over the "new" button. He paused for a moment; the arrow blinking steadily. He couldn't exactly tell what had drawn his eye—but his gaze had drifted to the seldom opened junk mail folder. There was one unread message inside. Slowly, ever so slowly, he toggled the mouse down to the Spam folder and clicked the left pad, twice. The folder opened up and Eric felt his heart nearly stop. Right at the top of the junk mail about how to enlarge his penis and how to get free tickets to a Sugar Ray concert was a message from one Gregory House, MD.
Sucking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a second before clicking on the message. It took forever to load, and Foreman balled his hands into fists and lowered his head to the smooth plastic of the table until his laptop beeped cheerfully. Lifting his eyes to the screen, he held his breath as he moved the arrow down and slowly read;
Tuesday 16 May 4:00 pm. Diagnostics, 4th floor Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. Bring only your wits. G. House MD.
Tomorrow. The sixteenth was tomorrow. When he could breathe again—which seemed a long time—he shakily reached out and minimized the message. Entering the web address by memory, he returned once more to the diagnostics page to study it once more. Dr. House's photograph was unchanged. One fellowship position remained listed. Dr. House had been interviewing candidates for five weeks. Whatever he'd been looking for, he hadn't found it yet. Resolve firming, Eric brought up another window and went looking for airfare to Princeton, New Jersey.
Rolling around on the bed, Eric squinted up to the phone as it rang shrilly. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he grabbed the phone and muttered into it; hanging up quickly. The only flight he'd been able to secure to Princeton on short notice had left at 4:30 AM. He'd stumbled into his hotel room nearly four hours later and had fallen into bed after leaving a wake up call for two the following afternoon. Grunting, he sat up and snatched the remote off the bedside table. The screen hummed to life, and he could make out the sappiness of the weather channel as he staggered into the bathroom and closed the door. An hour later, showered, shaved and dressed to the nines he'd made his way out of his hotel and down to the curb to hail a taxi. He'd no sooner settled into the vinyl seat and given directions to the hospital when his cell phone rang.
"Hello?" He held his breath expectantly as a woman's voice spoke up hesitantly.
"Could I speak to Dr. Eric Foreman?"
"Speaking." He immediately sat upright as the woman introduced herself.
"I'm Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I'm the Dean of Medicine here at Princeton-Plainsborough. I'm calling regarding your interview with Dr. House."
Eric felt his heart stop. He was canceling. He gripped the phone tightly and forced himself to speak. "Yes." He forced himself to say. "Is four o'clock still all right?"
"Yes." Dr. Cuddy said firmly. "I wanted to let you know that I will be interviewing you instead, along with a colleague of Dr. House's."
What? Eric rubbed his forehead as he struggled to wrap his mind around her revelation. Was he being politely rejected? Was Dr. House ill? His mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Dr Brightman and he realized that maybe the unthinkable had happened: had Dr. House been fired? Again?
"Not a problem." He lied smoothly; speaking before he had time to realize what he'd actually said. He paused for a minute, trying to figure out how best to ask the question on the tip of his tongue when Dr. Cuddy spoke again.
"Dr. House wanted to meet with you today." She said kindly. "Some days are better than others, I'm afraid. I'm sure you can appreciate that we have to take into consideration his physical limitations."
"Of course." Eric echoed awkwardly. Her words implied an intimacy with Dr. House that surpassed a working relationship: but he wasn't certain exactly what that meant. Did she know him well? Was she familiar with his condition? "I'll be there shortly." He promised, and fell silent when Dr. Cuddy spoke up one more time.
"You'll meet with us in my office. First floor behind the clinic."
"Great. I look forward to it." He said, but spoke aloud to no one. She'd already hung up.
The hospital was bustling when he arrived; the energy was a palpable undercurrent that sparked a flame within him. He'd always felt a kinship while working in the hospital; there was something about the drive and energy that wasn't present in any neurology clinic. The urgency with which people moved; the way they carried themselves bespoke of a potential battle being won and lost between life and death on every floor. Eric smiled, thinking of his first attending's bizarre poetic streak. He'd said that, and then burst out laughing. He'd been a great guy to work with. Stepping up to the check-in desk, he inquired about the clinic and smiled at the nurse after she gave him directions. Thanking her, he quickly moved through the corridors that led to the clinic.
At ten minutes to four, he paused outside the dean's office to straighten his tie and shift his folder from one slightly sweaty hand to the other. Standing up straight, he took the door handle into his hand and opened it. Just within the doorway was a reception desk and the young man behind the desk looked up at him expectantly.
"Dr. Foreman to see Dr. Cuddy?" Eric said, clasping his hands in front of him congenially.
"She's expecting you." He said, and motioned toward the door. Eric nodded curtly.
"Thank you." She. Not they. Whoever was assisting her in the interview wasn't in yet, then. He squared his shoulders and opened the door. Dr. Cuddy was seated behind an expansive desk, and looked up with a pleasant smile as he walked in.
"Good afternoon." She said gracefully, rising and holding out a hand. "I'm Dr. Cuddy."
"Good afternoon." He returned kindly, taking her hand briefly before releasing it. "Eric Foreman."
"Please, sit." She offered, returning to her own seat. "I apologize, we'll need to wait for Dr. Wilson—" she began, but broke off with a smile as the door opened and a man in a lab coat stepped into the room.
"Sorry I'm late." He said sheepishly. Throwing himself into a chair in front of Dr. Cuddy's desk, he held a hand out. "James Wilson."
"Eric Foreman." Eric shook his hand warmly.
"He get home okay?" Dr. Cuddy asked quietly. Eric froze, sensing the electric current that lay in the undertone of her words. Did she mean Dr. House?
"Yeah." Dr. Wilson said, and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "He'll stick with the crutches for the weekend and he should be good to go by Monday."
"ACL?" she asked, leaning back.
"No. Didn't show on the MRI. He's just sore. He'll be more comfortable at home." Dr. Wilson said. He nodded when he'd finished speaking, and Dr. Cuddy seemed to take that as her cue to start the interview. Inexplicably, she leaned over to the right and then back to center before leaping into the first question. Eric had no time to do more than observe the movement before she began.
"So," she said briskly. "you went to medical school at Johns Hopkins."
"Yes." Eric blinked, his attention fully riveted on the interview once more. He sat straight, hands in his lap. Focused, passionate and direct he gave the interview of his life. All thoughts of Dr. House had fled; he couldn't think far enough ahead of the questions to entertain any fantasies of working for the man. Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Wilson tagteamed him; asking question after question about diagnostic practices and tested him on various scenarios. Eric had felt surprised, but answered as well as he could. When they finished, he could feel sweat collecting at his hairline and inside his palms. He'd never been through such a grueling interview before, and felt relieved that they seemed to have finished with him for the time being. He wondered, idly, how the interview might have gone had Dr. House been able to attend. The questions were undoubtedly his; Eric had recognized some of the scenarios from his published journal entries.
"Thank you, Dr. Foreman. You did extremely well." Dr. Cuddy was smiling. Dr Wilson was smiling, too. Eric's own smile was forced, but he didn't trust his voice in answering.
"House," Dr. Cuddy called, and Eric felt a cold sweat wash over him when she said his name; "what did you think?"
He was on the phone? In his mind's eye, Eric remembered the way that Dr. Cuddy had leaned to the right and back again before she'd launched into her questions. She must have hit the speaker phone button. It was done now, he knew. If he'd said or hinted at anything Dr. House might not have liked it was too late to undo it now.
"Wrap him up to go." Dr. House said, and hung up the phone. Eric was still contemplating what his cryptic response meant when Dr. Wilson held out a hand. Without thinking, Eric took it automatically.
"Congratulations." Dr. Wilson said warmly. Dr. Cuddy shook his hand, too, and walked around the desk. Eric rose to his feet quickly, and moved forward when she touched his shoulder. She led him out of her office and through the clinic. At the elevators she paused, and Dr. Wilson took his leave.
"I've got appointments to finish up. I'll talk to you later. Congratulations, again, Dr. Foreman."
"Thank you." Eric called as Dr. Wilson bounded up the stairs.
"You did very well." Dr. Cuddy told him as she pressed the elevator call button. "I thought I'd show you around upstairs, and then give you some time to think about your decision."
Eric felt stunned; he'd felt that way since Dr. House had hung up the phone and he couldn't stop himself from blurting out the first question that came to his mind.
"Does that mean I have the job?" he asked in a rush, and felt his nervousness skitter away when Dr. Cuddy laughed out loud.
"Yes. You have Dr. House's seal of approval, so to speak." She told him warmly.
"Then I don't need to take any time to think about it." Eric said firmly. "I want the position."
"Are you sure?" Cuddy asked skeptically. "You might want to meet with his other fellows, make sure that—"
"I want it." Eric said firmly. "I've wanted it since the position was posted."
Dr. Cuddy still stared at him as the elevator doors opened, and her eyes never left his when they both stepped inside and the doors closed. Her finger hovered above the floor buttons, and when she spoke she was as serious as he'd ever seen anyone.
"Gregory House is a brilliant diagnostician. His ability to piece together events and symptoms to come up with a cohesive diagnosis is second to none. He will stop at nothing to get the answer—heedless of the cost to himself and everyone around him. He will push you to be the best you can be, and will accept nothing less."
"I understand." Eric said softly.
"This isn't a job, Dr. Foreman. It's a life. Your life will forever be changed from this day forward." She told him sternly. "If you want this job, you need to know that your life will never be the same again."
"I want it." Eric insisted, and Dr. Cuddy shook her head at his stubbornness. She pushed a button then; for the second floor instead of the fourth, and when the doors opened she shooed him out, alone. "You'll need to take yourself down to HR, down at the end of the hall on the right."
"They know I'm coming?" Eric asked, raising an eyebrow.
"They always recognize a new diagnostics fellow by the swagger." Cuddy promised, and Eric fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Fill out the paperwork, then stop by the lab. Come by my office when you're done." She ordered, and he nodded.