Casa de Dad 'n' Larry. Chase removes a poster from Larry's bedroom wall, and Foreman prepares to sledgehammer said wall. Cut to the other side of the wall; Foreman peers in and raises a flashlight as, in the foreground, termites teem. Cut back to the bedroom, where the 'mites have begun streaming centrifugally out of the hole. Chase frowns. Foreman looks back at him; they exchange an inscrutable look.

PPH. In Larry's room, Cameron reports to Larry, Dad, and Fishface that Larry's tests show improvement across the board: "It means you made the right call. His liver is healing. He's gonna be just fine." Dad weepily hugs Larry, who still looks a bit out of it. Mystery Ailment angrily packs a bag. Cameron leaves, glancing back as Fishface takes Larry's hand possessively, and as she closes the door, Dad takes Fishface's other hand. Oh, fine: Aw.

Downstairs, Wilson and House crutcheconference; House is looking decidedly better in skin tone and isn't as sweaty. Wilson, neutrally: "You made it a week." "And won my prize," House gloats. "Congratulations," Wilson says, somewhat acidly, and House says that "Cuddy's a sucker -- I would have done it for two weeks off." "You learn anything?" "Yeah," House says, quietly. "I'm an addict." He pushes into his office, leaving a stunned Wilson in the hall; Wilson follows him into the office shortly, at a loss, and starts, "Ah..." House gives him an "...and?" look. Wilson, not quite believing this: "...Okay...?" "I'm not stopping," House says shortly. Wilson forges ahead, suggesting that "there are...programs" and saying that Cuddy would give House the time off, but House interrupts that he doesn't need to stop: "I said I was an addict. I didn't say I had a problem." He can work, he can fix meals: "I function." "Is that all you want?" Wilson asks, pointing out that House has "no relationships." House doesn't want relationships. "You alienate people," Wilson tries again, and House parries with, "I've been alienating people since I was three," but Wilson is through with the diplomacy: "Oh, come on! You don't think you've changed in the last few years?" Of course he has, House says; his hair's thinner, sometimes he's bored, sometimes he's lonely -- basically, sarcastic bullshit, which Wilson listens to for a minute, shaking his head, before cutting him off: "No. I was there. You are not just a regular guy who's getting older. You've changed. You're miserable, and you're afraid to face yourself." "Of COURSE I've CHANGED," House shouts suddenly, slamming his cane into a shelf by the window. Then he looks down, thinking. Wilson squints, then says in a hard tone, "And everything's the leg? None of it's the pills. They haven't done a thing to you." House, almost reluctantly: "They let me do my job. They take away my pain." Wilson looks at him, then drops his gaze a second or two later and rubs his neck. Then he nods; he seems to hear what I did in House's tone there -- that it's not ideal, but it is what it is. That, or he's acknowledging that a certain kind of stubbornness can't be debated with. Deflated, he leaves without another word. House watches him go, looking resentful, then turns back to the shelf and fidgets sadly. Man, I don't miss Dawson's Creek one bit, but I've got to say, crappy acting is waaaaaay easier to recap than Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard packing whole paragraphs into glances like this. Bastards!