The next day, Miss Radfafa is wheeled down the hall with Cameron and Chase. Miss Radfafa -- who has recovered the power of speech, so I guess that camera up the nose trick was good for something -- notes that House is absent. Radfafa is laid out on that MRI sliding bed thing, and Foreman prepares to inject some gadolinium (atomic number 64) into her veins, which will, he explains, act as a contrast material for MRI. Or, as Cameron prefers to say, "Whatever's in your head lights up like a Christmas tree!" Good one, Cameron! First of all, as we learn later, they're all operating under the assumption that Miss Radfafa is Jewish, so perhaps "menorah" might have a more culturally sensitive comparison point there, and second, I can't imagine that Miss Radfafa -- or anyone else, for that matter -- would be all that happy about having weird chemicals injected in her body that make your already-mysterious-disease-ridden brain go crazy neon. It doesn't matter in the end, as one of the technicians stops them from going forward with the test, saying that there is a problem.
Cut to House using his good leg to kick open the boss lady's office door and yell at her for pulling his authorization. Cuddy says she sure did. House says that Cuddy should at least have "the guts to face" him if she's going to fire him, as if he's the master of face-to-face contact with other human beings. Cuddy tells him to stop shouting. "I'm angry!" House shouts. "You're risking a patient's life!" "I assume those are two separate points," Cuddy retorts. Damn, she's good. House keeps yelling until Cuddy interrupts to ask if he's trying to scare her with the yelling, because she can't really see a scenario where she has anything to be scared of. If House gets mad enough to try to hit her, she's "pretty sure [she] could outrun [him]." Aw, snap! Cuddy follows it up by saying that she did a little philosophy studying of her own, and therefore knows that "if you try sometimes you get what you need." I think she's missing a "you just might find" in that quote, but I'll take it. House will take some painkillers.
Sometime later, House limps out of the office and tells his waiting team to go ahead with the MRI: "She folded." They scatter, and House tells Wilson, who's hanging out for no discernible reason, that he had to promise to work four hours a week at the clinic until he's made up the last six year's worth of time, which will be sometime in the year 2054. "You better love this cousin a lot," House grumps. "Not as much as I love you," Wilson thinks to himself.