House knew he must have poked at Foreman's buttons when Foreman evaded his question, replying instead with a question of his own. House knew that Foreman was well-aware of the patient's condition. Treated, improving, should be discharged shortly. Blah, blah, blah. House didn't find it interesting that Foreman evaded, but he was suddenly interested in why. There must have been a truthful answer that Foreman didn't want him to know, or one he didn't want to admit. House peered at Foreman from the backseat, a grin spreading across his face, which held steady as Foreman noticed the mess he'd made on the leather.

When Foreman, failing to clean the mess, tossed the napkin into his lap, House lifted it away, crumpling it up and throwing it into the empty bag. He crawled out of the other side of the car, sliding himself across the clean side of the seats and out, and looked at Foreman across the roof of the car. He was still grinning, and he pointed at him after closing the door. "You like this," he said. Foreman, the guy who'd quit, threw a little temper tantrum like a teenager with an identity crisis, had come back and liked it. House wasn't sure if he should be amused or pissed off. On the one hand, it was nice to know he'd been right all along, but on the other, he'd never get rid of Foreman if he was happy.

"And 'this' is a raid."