"She's dehydrated," Foreman said. He didn't care if it sounded like he was dismissing Brennan's case. He was. "She overheated during the race. After she's been on fluids for a few hours, she'll be fine."
"Foreman, are you trying to convince me that a drag racer is boring? I should fire you."
Foreman rolled his eyes. "You can't. And if you want to run a dozen pointless tests on the girl who needs a few glasses of juice, you can. If you're interested in actual medicine--"
"Right! I pick the first one." House was about to needle him even further when the doors opened and a guy in a suit appeared, asking to speak with him privately.
Unimpressed, Foreman watched, eyebrows raised, as House got dragged out of the room by the guy in a suit. Frankly, Foreman didn't give a shit who he was or what he wanted with House. It suited him just fine to have House out of the way, even for a few minutes. "All right, if any of you have theories that are more interesting than dehydration, now's the time to come up with them," he said, ignoring their questions. He didn't have the answers, and they didn't matter. Speaking to House 'privately' meant private for the two minutes they'd be out of the room, and then House would come back in and shoot off his mouth just to prove he could. The candidates could have their curiosity satisfied then.
Ignoring their questions, he stood up and wrote the symptoms on the blackboard. Textbook heatstroke. "Come on, people, a few theories." Even if their ideas were completely untenable, it might help convince House to take on a real case.
"Hereditary brain disorder," Brennan suggested. At least he was involved in the damn case, and that would encourage the others to top him.
Foreman had dragged three (stupid) suggestions out of them by the time House came back in. House looked at the list Foreman had drawn on the board and sniffed. Foreman could feel the boredom radiating off him. Despite Foreman's best efforts, House knew it was heatstroke. He was about as intrigued as when Cuddy told him there were patients waiting for him in the clinic. "Right, I'll leave those tests to you guys then. Since I don't think even you could kill a patient with IV fluids." He started up the stairs. "See you after my secret invitation-only poker tournament. Foreman, you're in charge until I get back."
Foreman stared at House's back. It sounded like a backhanded compliment at best, but at least House was following the chain of command. Which, in this case, meant dumping him with a case that wasn't a case, while he ditched work again. With perfect confidence, he said, "I know," before House left the room, for the satisfaction of seeing House's annoyed look over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.
no subject
"Foreman, are you trying to convince me that a drag racer is boring? I should fire you."
Foreman rolled his eyes. "You can't. And if you want to run a dozen pointless tests on the girl who needs a few glasses of juice, you can. If you're interested in actual medicine--"
"Right! I pick the first one." House was about to needle him even further when the doors opened and a guy in a suit appeared, asking to speak with him privately.
Unimpressed, Foreman watched, eyebrows raised, as House got dragged out of the room by the guy in a suit. Frankly, Foreman didn't give a shit who he was or what he wanted with House. It suited him just fine to have House out of the way, even for a few minutes. "All right, if any of you have theories that are more interesting than dehydration, now's the time to come up with them," he said, ignoring their questions. He didn't have the answers, and they didn't matter. Speaking to House 'privately' meant private for the two minutes they'd be out of the room, and then House would come back in and shoot off his mouth just to prove he could. The candidates could have their curiosity satisfied then.
Ignoring their questions, he stood up and wrote the symptoms on the blackboard. Textbook heatstroke. "Come on, people, a few theories." Even if their ideas were completely untenable, it might help convince House to take on a real case.
"Hereditary brain disorder," Brennan suggested. At least he was involved in the damn case, and that would encourage the others to top him.
Foreman had dragged three (stupid) suggestions out of them by the time House came back in. House looked at the list Foreman had drawn on the board and sniffed. Foreman could feel the boredom radiating off him. Despite Foreman's best efforts, House knew it was heatstroke. He was about as intrigued as when Cuddy told him there were patients waiting for him in the clinic. "Right, I'll leave those tests to you guys then. Since I don't think even you could kill a patient with IV fluids." He started up the stairs. "See you after my secret invitation-only poker tournament. Foreman, you're in charge until I get back."
Foreman stared at House's back. It sounded like a backhanded compliment at best, but at least House was following the chain of command. Which, in this case, meant dumping him with a case that wasn't a case, while he ditched work again. With perfect confidence, he said, "I know," before House left the room, for the satisfaction of seeing House's annoyed look over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.