8

Stacey scurried into the room as soon as her call ended. "Sorry, it ran long...how is he?"

"Woke up briefly. He wasn't really lucid, but he was asking about you."

Stacey gingerly approached the bed. "Greg…? How're you doing…?"

House moaned at the sound of Stacey's voice, and opened his eyes a little. His vision was tunneled and swimming.

"Oh...don't cry...it's OK…what's wrong?"

"He's not really very comfortable right now. He was trying to get out of bed I think and he bumped the site a little."

Stacey held his hand and whispered comfortingly into his ear. Wilson watched, feeling a little out of place. He fiddled with the morphine drip, turning it up a little so House could talk to Stacey without crying. He would be so embarrassed if he knew he was crying so much in front of people. Wilson didn't think he had ever seen his friend cry before these past few days.

House opened his eyes almost all the way now, look at Stacey lazily. "Stacey…" he slurred.

"I'm here. How's your leg?"

"Ow…"

House made another attempt to lurch up. Thankfully, this time he didn't displace his leg too much.

"House...you have to stop that. I don't want to restrain you, OK?" Wilson said.

Stacey glared at Wilson and then turned back to her boyfriend. "You're gonna be fine. We had to move up the surgery so your heart wouldn't get worse." She placed a hand on his calf and lovingly rubbed up and down.

House moaned in pain again. "Hurs…"

"Hm?" Stacey enquired.

"He said it hurts…" Wilson translated. "He just got a booster of Demerol a few minutes ago. I don't know what else to do."

House started crying again. Some of Wilson's patients reacted to anesthesia this way, but somehow Wilson didn't think this was related. House's chest was heaving as he tried to stop crying.

Wilson pressed the call button. A nurse entered the room a few minutes later. Wilson's heart sank when he saw it was the same nurse that changed his bandage.

"Sorry to bother you...he's just still in a lot of pain...is there anything you can give him?"

"Well, he already had Demerol...I don't know what to tell you…"

Wilson nodded reluctantly and let the nurse leave.

9

The next morning, House was more lucid. Wilson could even get him to eat a few bites of hospital jello. He seemed to have forgotten the the day before. He also didn't seem to know that the surgery he requested hadn't been done. But he was himself and for now that was all Wilson cared about. This lucid, blissfully unaware state continued until it was time to change his bandages again.

Wilson held his breath as House looked down at his leg.

House looked up at Wilson. "What happened."

"I'm sorry. We had to take some of the muscle. We wanted to bypass the clot but your heart couldn't take that long of a surgery…"

House didn't take his eyes off his leg, wincing sharply as the nurse cleaned it. "Get out."

"What?"

"I said GET OUT!"

Wilson reluctantly left, leaving House alone with the nurse. He tried to come back later, but House glared at him from the doorway, so he didn't enter the room.

Later, Stacey attempted the same thing.

"Get. Out."

"Greg, I—"

"I SAID GO!" House yelled as he threw a cup in her direction, more out of anger than malice.

After everyone left, House carefully unwrapped the bandages, wincing and tearing up as he did. It hurt. It hurt like hell. House stared at his mangled limb. He told them he didn't want this. He told them he wanted the bypass. His heart couldn't have been that bad if he's sitting here without a central line.

"Goddamnit!"

He pressed the call button and waited for a nurse. "I need to speak to my doctor."

The nurse nodded reluctantly, knowing there was no use arguing with House. The doctor came in.

"Dr. House! You're awake! That's great. I'm Dr. Pendleton. I did your surgery. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. You did a hack job. Why the hell would you go against my orders?!"

"Dr. House, there was nothing else we could do…"

"My leg is fucking half gone!"

"I know. There was a lot more muscle damage than we anticipated. I'm sorry. The good thing is you should regain function."

"How much."

"What?" The doctor asked, confused.

"How much function." House was shaking with anger.

"Well, best case would be around 95%, but around 80% is more likely."

House smashed his fist into the table beside him, knocking over a lamp. "Fuck you. You had no right."

"Dr. House, the circumstances were severe and I decided in conjunction with your proxy that this was the best decision."

"Fuck you...fuck…" House started crying, mostly from pain but a little bit from sadness and frustration, but he wouldn't admit that. His muscle was spasming. He screamed, squeezing his eyes shut. The beeping of the monitor intensified. Pain overtook him, and he was unable to think of anything else.

"Dr. House? Dr. House, stay with us…"

He felt pressure on his chest, then darkness.