[Nothing special to see here, just a slightly out-of-focus view of Rudy at work. He's fitting a metal armature into a cast plastic hand, alternately shaving paper-thin bits of flesh-colored rubber away and checking how the pieces measure up.
There's a sharp rap on the door, and he sets the work down, standing a little straighter as it opens. The nurse in the doorway has a folder in hand, and she starts to say something as she takes a step in.
Or, at least, she tries to. He watches her fruitlessly wave her hand up and down a moment, looking for a break in the invisible barrier.]
Just leave it on the floor. I'll get it later.
[Once she slides it in a few inches and shuts the office door, he goes back to his prosthetic, enjoying the peace and quiet.]