I don't care for mornings. Or Mondays. So of course Cuddy was all over me the moment I staggered into the hospital Monday morning.

"House! Where the hell have you been? It's eleven o'clock."

I lifted my sunglasses just enough to give her a murderous glance that would have struck fear into the heart of any human being. But nooooo, not Cuddy.

"House, I have a new patient I need you to see right away."

"It's lupus. Leave me alone."

She ignored me. She always does.

"A healthy 40 year old male fell into a coma for no discernible reason. The scans revealed nothing. No brain damage, no heart damage, no blood toxins, no trauma. Nothing."

"He's probably faking it to avoid his boss."

"House!" She whacked me over the head with the file. "Go deal with the patient, now. And – " she paused, for dramatic effect. "I hired a new member for your team."

That was too much, even for Cuddy. "Well, unhire them, will you? Unless it's someone hot, of course."

A slight smile. "Hm. Well, I would say your new team member is very hot."

"Really?" That didn't sound so bad.

I stepped back to avoid being run over by a doctor pushing a patient in a wheeled bed toward the elevator. Patient looked healthy enough, apart from being unconscious. Handsome, tan, surfer type. I winced. I push my patients around too, but not literally. That's what nurses are for. Dealing with patients. Doctors diagnose, at a distance. I hate those involved doctor types.

Cuddy beamed. "House, here's the newest member of your team right now. "Dr. House, this is Dr. Cullen. And your patient, coming back from his CT scan."

I looked at the doctor suspiciously. A guy, huh? Thanks, Cuddy. Yup, I hated him. Not only was he one of those touchy-feely types, leaning tenderly over the patient, as if he was trying to inhale his scent or something – he was also the pale, handsome, Greek god type. Very annoying.

Dr. Cullen flashed us a smile, and swear I heard Cuddy whimper softly by my side. "A pleasure to meet you, Dr. House. I have heard so much about you." His voice had a rather pleasant quality to it, musing, like a guitar you play when nobody's listening. His face was so perfect it should be illegal on a man. God, I hated him.

"I'll see you in the conference room in a minute for the differential," his melodious voice went on. "I'll just make sure the patient is comfortable first."

I turned away from him, wordlessly. I really didn't need a guy like this on a Monday morning.

..

They were all seated around the table, except for the Cullen guy who was over by the window. I bounced a tennis ball against the wall now and then, mostly to see who would snap first if I kept it up.

"All right, everyone. Differential? What makes a healthy 40 year old male with an awesome tan fall into a coma?"

"A metabolic disorder?" Foreman was the first to speak, as always. Suck up.

"Could be, I suppose. You go test for that. Chase?"

"Er… A stroke?"

Good God, do I keep the dashing Aussie on the team only for his ornamental qualities?

"And why wouldn't that have shown up on the initial brain scan, you moron?"

Chase flushed. "Well, how about a toxin, then?"

I shrugged. "At least that makes sense. You go and search the patient's home, and take Cameron with you before she can suggest lupus."

Cameron looked annoyed. "I wasn't going to suggest…" Yeah. Like hell you weren't.

The new guy, Cullen, was standing with his back to me, looking steadily out the window. What the fuck was he playing at? There's nothing to see out of any window in New Jersey.

"Hey, you!" I tossed the tennis ball at the back of his pale gold head.

Damn! His reflexes were awesome. Without even turning around, he reached a hand up behind him and caught the ball. Then he turned slowly, and with a little smile bounced the ball right back at me. "It's hemochromatosis."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a diagnosis.

I looked at him with some interest. "Hemochromatosis?" Interesting idea. Far-fetched, but possible. The patient had none of the usual symptoms of hemochromatosis – no liver damage, no heart damage. But the excessive iron absorption in his blood could manifest in other ways, as a darkening of the skin, for example, looking for all intents and purposes like a superb tan. And it could cause the patient to fall into a coma…

"All right. Go draw some blood and get me his transferring saturation numbers, will you?"

Cullen nodded briefly and went off. Somehow, we both knew what those numbers would be.

I was intrigued. How the hell did he do that?

..

The patient had hemochromatosis. I collared Cullen in the elevator.

"Hey, Cullen. How did you know he had hemochromatosis?"

He smiled a perfect smile, and his eyes were strangely hypnotic. For some reason, I just couldn't keep my eyes away from his. His eyes were a very unusual color, kind of golden.

He shrugged lightly. "Oh, I don't know. I just get these hunches sometimes. I suppose that happens to everyone."

I looked at him suspiciously. "I get hunches too, but my hunches are based on something. Like reading the file. Your hunch wasn't based on anything. You hadn't even seen the file yet. All you did was bend over the patient and kind of inhale him. Did you smell the excess iron in his blood, or what?"

My voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Cullen merely smiled an angelic smile and said softly: "You never know, Dr. House. Perhaps I did."

Huh.

And then… Well, Cuddy is always after me about the Vicodin, and so is Wilson. Totally ridiculous, of course. I take pain medicine because I'm in pain, that's all. It's not affecting my mind at all; it's just making it possible for me to function.

But for a moment I started to wonder. Perhaps I was overdoing the Vicodin? For it seemed to me, absurdly, that Cullen kind of breathed in, deeply, as if he was smelling me in the enclosed space of the elevator, and I thought I heard him whisper something about my scent. And for a moment, it seemed as if his eyes darkened, and as he stepped off the elevator and uttered a polite farewell greeting, it seemed as if his voice was trembling.

I'm definitely taking too much Vicodin.