There was something about the sharpness of it, even if most of what we did was patchwork.
I’d barely turned the corner when I heard Dr. House’s unmistakable voice barking orders, sharp and dry like the crack of a whip.
“Stop fidgeting or I’ll set the cast crooked on purpose. Then we can see how well you walk with a limp for the rest of your life.”
A child whimpered.
I stepped into Trauma Room 1 to find House hunched over a young boy with a fractured arm, already halfway through aligning the bone.
“Do I even want to know what you did to deserve this?” he asked the kid, not looking up from the X-ray pinned to the wall. The little boy blinked through watery eyes, sniffling.
“I… I fell out of a tree?”
House raised a brow, glancing sideways. “Ah, yes. ‘Fell.’ That’s what we’re going with
