"What the hell is that?" Foreman asked, his voice booming. Foreman threw his words at House, who lounged on Foreman's couch, his feet kicked up onto the coffee table. Foreman swatted at House's feet with his hat. "Get your damn feet off my coffee table."

House pointed at the TV, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. "That? I don't know. I think that one's the mom, and she's suing that guy for-"

"Not the TV! That!" Foreman pointed toward the open door. House would know what Foreman meant. He had to; there was no doubt in Foreman's mind that all of this was House's fault. A part of some ludicrous game.


Gripping House by the wrist, Foreman towed House into the hallway and parked him in front of the window. He pointed down to the street, squinting against the glare rising off the silver roof of the car parked along the curb. "That."

That morning, Foreman had found his Lexus missing. Gone. Nowhere to be found. He'd cornered House in the kitchen and discovered that the bastard had parked illegally. Overnight. On purpose. The car had been impounded and awaited Foreman's rescue. Two hours and a wasted cab fare later, Foreman had returned without his car-the lot seemed to have no knowledge of its whereabouts. Big surprise. He'd stalked toward his building, seething, fists clenched, preparing to throttle House to a God damn pulp, but had nearly tripped over himself as he'd tried to force himself to a stop. A clean, new, gorgeous car had gleamed from the curb, practically winking in the sunlight as if it were a part of an elaborate joke. An Aston Martin. V8 Vantage. He'd taken the time to admire an ad in the last issue of Business Week, had dog-eared the page. Sex on wheels. The definition of sleek. Parked outside his fucking apartment.

"Wow. Nice wheels," House gushed and leaned against the sill, smiling as if he'd never set eyes on the car before. Foreman rolled his eyes. "Want to play Gone in 60 Seconds? You could be the car thief. I could be the brother that-"



"You know nothing about this?" Foreman leveled a stare at House, arching an eyebrow and crossing his arms. Sometimes forcing House to fess up was like getting a confession out of a petulant three-year-old.

"I know it can go from zero to sixty in less than five seconds," House said, gazing out of the window again.

"So you're saying you don't have the keys?"

"Why would I have the keys?"

"It's my birthday," Foreman said, resenting himself for sinking so low as to spell it out for House. The words sounded ridiculous leaving his mouth. House had probably planned for this. At least anticipated it. Bastard. "You've gone through every line of my personal file. There's no way-"

"Really? Your birthday?" House shrugged, standing straight and turning back toward the apartment. "I thought it was next month."

When Foreman followed House inside, he only had to search for five minutes before he found a new set of keys inside his desk drawer.