A desperate, bleeding woman breaks into a car and hotwires it to life. She speeds through traffic, but has a hard time driving safely due to being on the verge of passing out from blood loss. Finally, she drives into some newspaper boxes on the Fox city street backlot set, gets out of the car, and staggers into an apartment building that apparently doesn't lock its front door. She knocks on the door of Apartment 3, and Hadley answers. Oh, good. I was hoping for another Hadley-centric episode. They're so rare these days!

But Hadley's friend, Darrien, is not at PPTH when the credits end like your typical Patient of the Week, but still in Hadley's apartment. She doesn't want to go to the hospital because the police will find her there and send her back to the jail where she and Hadley met for hanging out with convicted felons. Wait -- shouldn't Hadley also not be allowed near convicted felons? Like... Darrien? Whatever. Hadley doesn't seem too worried about it. Darrien thinks Hadley can just fix her up, but Hadley says it's much more complicated than that, and if Darrien were to die in Hadley's apartment, Hadley would be charged with manslaughter. That would be kind of funny, though, if Hadley managed to be charged with manslaughter of a friend just a few months after getting out of jail for killing her own brother. Darrien would rather leave Hadley's apartment and die in an alley than go to the hospital, leaving Hadley with no choice but to agree to help her in her own home. She promises Darrien that she won't take her to the hospital.

House is relaxing at home, and he has company: one of his prostitutes, who is considerate enough of her client to refuse to agree to a Kama Sutra position he's proposing because she knows House's bad leg won't be able to do it. House says she doesn't need to worry about that, as he is taking an "experimental medicine" that regrew his leg muscle. He tries to prove his newfound strength to her by lifting up some huge, heavy guitar amps. He's successful in his efforts for a few seconds before one of the amps topples over and falls through his glass coffee table. His special rat medicine was also on that table, just sitting out in the open in a little dish, and so spills all over the floor. House will have to get more, which he'd rather go out and do than spend time with the prostitute. I guess the unsuccessful guitar-amp-lifting killed the mood.