Written for Spin1978, with this picture as a prompt.
House looked at the three pictures of his new underlings. None of them inspired much confidence, but then again, nobody had inspired much in confidence in him these days. For instance, his leg didn’t inspire much confidence, and neither did his crutch. Hell, his head didn’t inspire much confidence, but he didn’t have to deal with that, just dump it all on Cuddy and watch her own head spin. Yeah, Cuddy – her fault he was now looking at three rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed little doctors, all wanting to save the world and make it better, probably. House snorted. Good luck with that, kiddies. But maybe they didn’t, who knew. Maybe they were the product of the millennium cynicism, of the post 9-11 world, where nothing matters, because we’re all going to go down eventually, so whether or not you cure that kid of the flu, ten others will get malaria and die in Africa. Yeah, maybe that was them. At least two of them. The last one – she really was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He sighed. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? She’d probably try to undermine him at every turn, try to appeal to his sense of duty, remind him of the Hippocratic Oath, for Christ’s sake. He had enough of Cuddy to deal with, he didn’t need this new blue-eyed perky addition.
He shuffled the papers, threw them across his desk, and popped open the bottle. Yeah, well, they’d just have to learn. No one reminded Greg House of the fucking Hippocratic Oath. He couldn’t forget it no matter how hard he fought to do just that, every single day.
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