The hospital was only minutes from my apartment, but even so I kept wondering if I'd gotten him there in time. Dr. Horrible was still out. No wonder, with a great big hole in him. I'd done what I could to stop the bleeding, but it didn't seem to be helping. The bright side to that was that when we got to the emergency room, he was taken care of almost immediately.

I found myself filling out forms with questions that I had no idea how to answer. His name: well, I had found a wallet in his pocket. William Harris. Next of kin: no clue. Emergency contact: did Dr. Horrible even have one?

Finally that chore was done to the best of my ability, but that meant I had another choice. Stay, or go? I sighed again. Of course I would stay. My stupid conscience wouldn't let me do anything else without nagging constantly.

When he woke up, I was sitting by his bed reading a book. Trying to, anyway—I was too distracted to be successful in that endeavor.

He tried to sit up, but quickly gave in. I looked up with a scowl. "Lay down and stay still," I ordered. "You'd better be paying your own dang bills when this is over."

He looked around blankly. "What?"

"You landed yourself in the hospital, Mister Harris. Or, more correctly, you landed yourself in the middle of a collapsed building and I brought you to the hospital. Against my better judgement," I finished in a mutter.

I could see him thinking about it, working it out...then a flash of memory. He actually got halfway to a sitting position this time before grunting in pain and laying back down.

"I told you to stay still. If you can't even do that, I'll just tell the medical staff who you really are and leave you here."

He relaxed a little, but was obviously still wary. "If you know who I am, then why'd you bring me here?"

I glared at him. "Because I'm actually a decent human being and I couldn't leave you under that pile of rubble that you quite literally brought down on yourself. Heaven only knows why, but I actually would have regretted walking away."

He had a little trouble wrapping his head around that one. I didn't give him time to think about it. "So, your name's really William Harris, hm?"

He looked pretty surprised. "How did you—"

I held up his wallet. "Driver's license. Seriously? You're supposed to be our evil overlord and you have a license." I scoffed.

"It's expired," he said defensively. "Anyway, that's private. Give it back."

"And why in the world would you have a picture of Captain Hammer's dead girlfriend in here? In celebration of your first kill?"

Anger flared. "That's not—she wasn't his—I said give it back!" he stammered.

"Not until you explain, Mister Harris."

He fixed me with a flat, cold stare. "No."

I shrugged lightly and tucked the wallet into my purse. "Fine. Just think about this: after all you've put the world through, do you honestly believe that you have a right to privacy?"

"What about what the world's put me through?" he demanded.

"You got dealt a crappy hand, so you decide the world needs to burn? Good job. You ensured that the problem isn't going to get fixed."

"Fixed? It can't be fixed! It could never be fixed!"

"And revenge doesn't help anyone! Haven't you ever seen Star Wars? 'Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering'," I recited. "Anakin let hate turn him into someone else. Someone who never could have won in the long run."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "What?"

"Never mind. I'm going home. See you later, Darth Terrible."

"That's, uh—it's 'Horrible', actually," he corrected me. As I walked out the door, I gave him the most infuriating answer I could think of.

"Whatever."