(no subject)

House limped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, holding it up with one hand and using the other to brace himself on the wall since he'd stupidly left his cane in his room. By the time he made it back and sank onto the bed, his leg was killing him. It was one of those Bad Days, and he'd already exceeded his self-imposed Vicodin ration for the morning. He really was trying to be good with being conservative... he just kept reminding himself how much the detox was going to suck, and how much he didn't want to completely run out of pills any time soon.

He slid his hands under the towel and rubbed at his thigh, letting his head slump forward and letting all of the air out of his lungs in a half-groan, half-sigh. He was somewhat glad that Wilson hadn't been in here when he'd come in.