[identity profile] shutterbug-12.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] house_foreman
Title: Detour
Characters: House/Foreman
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Just borrowing; make love, not lawsuits.
Summary: Sometimes things don't always go according to plan.
Author's Notes: Set early in season four, just after Foreman's return. For [livejournal.com profile] queenzulu. Unbeta-ed. Concrit and feedback is love.


Just past nine o'clock, Foreman walked into the conference room--second day back--and found it empty. Quiet. Deserted, like a street in an old western, his rival lurking just out of sight and ready for a stand-off. His heckles rose with his suspicions. His eyes scanned the room, focusing on the details. Foreman knew where to look, what to look for. Even House, who prided himself on being the Master of the Unexpected, Lord of Surprise, could be predictable. Predictable enough to set Foreman on the right path.

His newspaper? Stack of journals? Untouched. No porn magazines sandwiched between issues. Briefcase? Exactly where he'd left it. Locks undamaged. Travel coffee mug?

Opened. A smear of coffee along the lip, a dribble down to its base.

The bastard drank his coffee. Good coffee. His coffee, freshly ground in his electric grinder, made in his coffee machine, flavored with his cafe-quality syrup. Almond. Not that stale, pulverized coffee-in-a-bag shit that House kept in a lopsided pile in the mini-fridge. Foreman could count on better quality from a God damn truck stop on I-95.

Foreman barreled through the hospital and didn't stop until he had House pushed off-balance, House's legs trapped against the desk in the lecture hall, and House's mouth open against his. He had enough time to sweep his tongue over House's, taste the leftover traces of his Arabica blend, a hint of almond, before House shoved him away.

Sputtering, House righted himself against the desk. "Jesus, Foreman, what the hell happened to 'let's keep this'--"

"You drank my coffee. That's what happened." Foreman said, straightening his tie, and ignored the sea of onlooking numbers.

House blinked, revealing a ghost of a smirk. A throat cleared somewhere in the second row and drew House's attention to their audience. The smirk disappeared, replaced with a scowl, as House barked, "You're all fired."

"No, you're not," Foreman said and headed toward the door, already planning a detour for a fresh cup of coffee.
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