House tried to wiggle his right foot, and the resulting pain in his leg was so severe that it brought him instantly to full consciousness. He managed not to cry out, but he did moan a little.

"Greg?" That was Stacy. "I'm here." Her face swam into his field of vision.

"Hi," House said. His leg shouldn't hurt this much. "Why did they wake me up early?"

"They didn't," Stacy said. "You're right on time."

House shook his head. "But it…" He tried to bend his leg, but it didn't respond the way it should have. He stared at it for a minute, frowning. It should hurt, yes, but he should be able to bend it. Unless—

"What did they do?" House asked.

"About what?" Stacy asked.

She was never this coy unless there was something to hide. Lawyer's defense. "Don't be cute. You know what I'm talking about. What did they do?"

"They took out the dead muscle," Stacy said.

Four days' worth of dead muscle. That must've been extensive. They'd taken a big chunk out of his leg. No wonder it didn't work. No wonder the damn thing hurt. Why couldn't they have listened to him? He might've gotten that muscle back, or maybe he could've rebuilt some muscle in the area and kept most of his mobility. Now he was in pain anyway, with the added bonus that his leg didn't work. Outstanding.

"Who decided to do that?" House asked, not sure he wanted to know. "Was it Cuddy? Did she…"

"I did," Stacy interrupted.

House stared at her. He'd heard wrong. Cuddy had done it because she had thought she was right and House was wrong; it fit. It made sense. Stacy must not have known what Cuddy was going to do, because if Stacy had known, she would've been able to stop it. Stacy knew what House wanted, and she would've told them… "What?"

"I waited until you were in a coma and then I exercised my legal rights as your health-care proxy and told them to do it," Stacy said.

And there she was, hiding behind the law again. It hadn't been what House wanted, but she would be damned if it wasn't legal. "Why would you do that?"

"The muscle was dead, Greg. You weren't getting it back," Stacy said.

"You don't know that," House said through gritted teeth. "You're a lawyer. I'm a doctor. I don't try your cases and you shouldn't make my medical decisions for me."

"I saved your life," Stacy said.

Of course. She was the hero, if only in her own mind. "Forgive me if I don't fall at your feet and shower you with gratitude."

"All right," Stacy said, an edge to her voice. "I'm selfish. I wanted to have you around for a long time. Is that so terrible?"

"You wanted to have me around?" House repeated, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't think with his leg like this. He needed something for the pain. Maybe he could convince them to give him a little extra morphine. Or extra something. "You have no idea what you've done."

Stacy looked pinched as she stood up. Clearly she was unwilling to have this conversation now. It was easy for her; she could just stand up and walk away. House might not be able to stand up. Christ, what if he couldn't walk? Did Stacy have any idea—but he didn't finish the question in his mind because no, of course she didn't. It wasn't her leg. It wasn't her life.

"I'll come back later," she said.

"Come back if you want," House said, "but what makes you think it'll be any better then?"

She had no answer. "Selfless" people like her never did.