Frankly, Foreman didn't care if House could take care of himself. It wasn't Foreman's business. Interfering in problems that weren't his concern would get him in trouble, which he didn't need more of. Despite the fact that House was a pain in his ass, and a medical practitioning nightmare, Foreman--reluctantly, occasionally--liked him, but that didn't give him the right to mess with whatever sort of self-destruction House threw himself into. He didn't have the right and so he didn't have the responsibility. If House messed himself up, which Foreman had seen plenty of times, Foreman only cared about making sure House was well enough to work. If he wasn't, Foreman had no problem first trying to patch him up, and second giving way to Cuddy's authority, such as it was. He'd help when House needed it, but he wasn't going to go out of his way to get knotted up in House's problems or his life. So he was glad enough that Amber seemed willing to drop the subject, even if her last question meant that she hadn't stopped thinking about it.

He breathed easier when they went inside, Amber's arm linked in his, her bag over her other shoulder. Finally they could get away from the subject of House, what he'd do when he saw them together. When the elevator came, Foreman pushed the button for the fourth floor. "Not exactly the penthouse suite," he said, but with a hint of pride. He liked being above his neighbours, where he didn't have to listen to their clomping footsteps all the time, and the apartment itself was roomy. He liked high quality, good brand names, and a quiet sense of style, and he didn't mind paying to get that. He unlocked the door and let Amber go in first, watching her expression, certain that she'd be impressed.