House wasn't sure if Wilson had bought anything he said; he should have. It wasn't as though House was acting any differently. Avoid conversation? Check. Get uninvited guests out of his apartment as fast as possible? Check. Act edgy because he was in pain? Check. If Wilson wasn't convinced, he didn't draw much attention to it, though House had to make sure he didn't react when Wilson dropped Foreman's name, not draw much attention to that. He restrained himself from pushing Wilson out into the hall and watched him go instead, slamming the door shut behind him. He locked it, just in case Wilson decided to stampede straight back inside if he happened to spot Foreman's car parked along the street. He kept it locked, even though he heard Wilson's car motor turn over a couple moments later, and started back to the bedroom.

He knew Foreman would be pissy, and he really didn't want to hear it. He wondered if Foreman had actually stayed in the closet--or if he'd found his alarm clock buried in his shoe--but he didn't care enough to find out at that very second. He needed some peace, and he didn't need Foreman in his face. Going into the bathroom instead or the bedroom, he closed both doors--the hall and bedroom access--and locked them. Sure, it was unsafe, and, sure, there was always a chance he'd fall in the shower, but it was no more of a risk now than when he lived her alone all the other times he showered. Foreman wouldn't be stupid enough to stay in that closet forever--he'd probably come out as soon as he heard the water start running, if he hadn't already--and House was too frazzled to feel guilty about it as he stripped down, turned on the shower, and stepped carefully into the tub.