Bad to worse. Thirteen was in the parking lot when he pulled in, and there was nothing House could do to distract her attention from the California license plates.
She hijacked him when he came through the main doors. "Hi, House." Making no effort to hide her amusement, she fell into step beside him as he tried to brush past her. "I take it our patient is doing well?"
House was livid that she would dare to tease him outright. Thankfully there was no more time for jesting once they reached the ER; they were immediately greeted by the smell of burnt flesh and an overflow of walking wounded and good-as-dead. They were accosted by nurses who provided gowns and gloves and directed them to exam rooms needing doctors.
Kelly's words were on his mind as he arrived at the bedside of his first patient. She was barely recognizable as a woman (and barely recognizable as a human being) with the burns to her face and upper body. Her legs had obviously been crushed under debris and one of her arms was bent at an awkward angle from the elbow. She moaned and writhed in agony as House did the exam, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to empathize.
She was in pain, she was alone, and if she managed to survive her quality of life would never be the same.
"Nurse, can you debride this area before we set the bone?"
She would be horribly scarred. It was unlikely that she would ever have use of her legs again.
Her scream was horrifying. Her right hand, one of the only parts of her that was uninjured, reached out blindly for anyone, anything that might bring her comfort.
But he couldn't bring himself to take it. He backed out of the room, telling an orderly to find Dr. Kutner to take his place.
After taking a few moments to calm himself, it was business as usual for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, time passing in a blur of emergencies and ailments and successes and failures, none of which would matter to him tomorrow.
But at the end of the day, when things had begun to settle and he was released to go home, he found himself at the nurses' station inquiring about the first patient he had seen. And he was directed to the morgue.
Bile rose in his throat and he was rushing for the doors to get away from the smell of death that suddenly seemed overwhelming. And he stood in the rain until the memory of her searching hand was no longer all he could see.
If this was what it meant to care, he wondered how anyone ever could.