Cure- House, MD

chapter 2: dialogue

It's day two of working at Princeton-Plainsboro.

The weather is horrible this morning. The shutters on my house were banging so loudly they acted as my alarm.

I get out of my car, holding a suitcase over my head to keep the rain from ruining my hair and makeup as I try to walk inside.

"Shit!" I yell as my heel twists, and I trip on the concrete.

"Dammit," I mutter, standing back up. I look down at my leg. I've got a nasty gash. I groan.

Perfect.

My lab coat is ruined, too.

I walk inside and sigh. Taking off my lab coat, I head to the clinic. I set my things down on the chair by my desk and slump into it, rubbing my leg and mumbling to myself.

House walks in and looks at me.

"What, did you decide to take a swim?" he asks, gesturing to my soaked hair.

I give him an annoyed look. "It's a monsoon out there," I reply.

"Yeah, well, good for me. No patients to bother me while I'm actually working." He shrugs.

His gaze drops to my leg. "You need some help with that?"

"I'm an MD. I think I'm an expert at dressing wounds. I can do it myself," I say, looking at him.

He's wearing a black button-up with black pants. A brown jacket is draped over it, and his white T-shirt peeks out from underneath.

"Ah, but it'll give me something to do so Cuddy won't be down my throat about not seeing patients." He raises an eyebrow.

I sigh.

"Go find an empty exam room. I'll be there after I put my stuff down," he tells me.

Groaning, I walk to Exam Room 2. I check to make sure it's empty and sit on the exam table. My eyes wander to the informative posters: smoking's effect on lungs, STDs, pregnancy, birth control—all about how to avoid the bad things.

Yet the majority of clinic patients? Smokers, STDs, teen pregnancies. Maybe these posters need to be stapled to light poles outside instead.

House walks in, snapping on a pair of gloves.

"So, how'd you manage this?" he asks after a moment.

"Well, I was walking inside, and... I tripped." I sigh.

"I bet that was funny. Anyone see?" He begins wiping the area with alcohol.

"No. I don't think so, at least." I wince as the alcohol stings.

"That's unfortunate. I would've enjoyed sharing that laugh." He tosses the alcohol wipe away. I glare at him.

"What? You don't laugh when people fall?" He raises an eyebrow.

"No, it's mean," I say.

"'No, it's mean,'" he repeats in a mocking tone.

He wraps my leg in sterile gauze and tapes it in place.

"Keep the gauze on for a while. Neosporin and whatnot," he says, pulling off his gloves.

"I honestly shouldn't have come in. There aren't going to be any patients anyway. I should just take a nap in here," I mumble, leaning my head back on the exam table.

"You hungry?" he asks.

I look up. "It's like... eleven o'clock. Not really," I say.

"Unfortunate. I am. I'm going to order some pizza from the cafeteria. Want any?" he asks.