Chapter Two

Dr. Morrison could remember those days when he would curse his luck, because it seemed like St. Eligius had taken over all of his time. Those days when he would loudly rant to anyone who would listen about how life as a resident was not what he'd hoped it would be, because he had ended up not having a life outside of the hospital. He was constantly filling in for others (Peter White – no, not going to think about that) and he would rarely see his wife. Things had gotten more insane when he had ended up with a psychotic bomber for a patient. He hadn't been able to get over the irritation that of all the doctors to get that insipid, spoiled, murderous brat, it had ended up being him.

Now, he would give anything to have those days, those long endless days, back. At least they were days when he'd close his eyes and hear the monotonous sound of his beeper instead of his own whimpers and screams.

At least Dr. House seemed determined to keep all of his team, Dr. Morrison included, busy, even if it was doing tasks that seemed important only in the mind of Dr. House. He had sent Foreman and Taub off to be involved in some sort of bet which he had ongoing with a colleague – the as yet unseen Dr. Wilson.

Morrison, meanwhile, had just been instructed by House to go into the E.R. to find out if there were any interesting cases.

"By this, of course, I mean I want to see if you know what an interesting case is. I don't know if you have any of those at St. Elsewhere," House told him, and Morrison grimaced.

"St. Eligius," he corrected in what he hoped came out as a very pleasant voice. Without giving House a chance to respond, Morrison turned and walked off to the E.R.

Come to think of it, as much as Morrison didn't want to admit it, he wasn't sure how he would identify an interesting case, at least by Dr. House's standards. At St. Eligius, he had spent his time on whatever cases Dr. Westphall felt he should be working on – hence people such as that insufferable bomber… may God rest his soul.

Morrison knew that House took cases that no other hospital or doctor could solve.

Well, what was interesting to Dr. Morrison, first off? Maybe he didn't need to step into the head of someone he had just met, and after all, House didn't seem like the type to choose a team of people who simply thought the same way that he did.

So what was interesting to him? What had piqued his interest during his time at St. Eligius?

He'd been interested in the people behind the diagnoses, he liked to help people who were sympathetic. That was why he didn't want to treat the bomber…

No, he wasn't going to go there. It was still too fresh, too tender. He reached up and placed his finger gently over his jaw and traced over it, as if to remind himself that it truly was healing. House hadn't commented on the obvious former wire-job, but maybe he was just biding his time. Westphall had warned Morrison that House tended to strike where he knew it would hurt the most – but that he did it to help, not hurt.

It was something Morrison couldn't quite wrap his mind around. Maybe it was a military-like mentality, tearing someone down to build them up again in a better way. But Morrison was wary of the effectiveness of such a technique, and more than that, he felt as if – McAllister, and the other man – the name in his mind, hovering as if surrounded by dark clouds and striking thunder – McAllister and the man whose name he didn't know – had already torn him down enough and in a way that was beyond repair.

"Hi," Morrison said quickly, as he walked up to a young Asian woman who was walking the E.R. with a clipboard. She reminded him a little of Dr. Armstrong, but younger, and as far as Morrison could tell, she looked Vietnamese rather than Japanese. "I'm Dr. Morrison. I'm working for Dr. House."

"My condolences," the woman replied dryly, before flashing a smile. "What do you need?"

"Do you have any cases in the E.R. that might pique his interest?" Morrison inquired.

"Well, that depends. House isn't really a man of consistent taste."

"Just anything you could tell me would be really helpful," Morrison implored.

"Okay, well, you seem really sweet, so I'm glad to help," the woman responded with another smile. "I'm Dr. Phao, by the way." She flashed him a somewhat flirtatious glance before beginning to flip through a stack of folders. "You seem way too sweet to be working for House, might I add."

"Why do I feel like I'm going to be hearing that a lot?" Morrison asked, forcing a grin.

"Because House is a grade A jerk and everyone knows it?" Phao responded. "His antics keep Cuddy distracted a good portion of the day… That's when he's not distracting her in other ways." Phao shook her head and clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"What do you mean?" Morrison asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you don't know? House and Cuddy are an item. Have been for a couple of months now," Dr. Phao replied, "Well, this one's not really up House's alley." She moved a folder aside. "Oh, here's one. A twelve-year-old boy with unexplained seizures and hallucinations." She smiled. "House likes hallucinations. They tell me he once treated a boy who thought he'd been abducted by aliens."

"Wow," Morrison replied, "How long have you worked here?"

"Four years. House has been here for…fifteen, I think. Most PPTH stories involve House in some way, shape or form." Phao handed him the folder. "Do you have kids, Dr. Morrison?"

"Yes," Morrison replied with a smile. "A little boy. He's four." Dr. Phao smiled back at the nervous resident.

"I have a daughter. Her name's Phoebe – she's nine."

"You look too young to have a nine-year-old daughter," Morrison blurted before blushing. Phao laughed.

"That's flattering, Dr. Morrison." She placed her hands on her hips a moment before handing him the folder. "You'd better head back before House comes looking for you. It's pretty embarrassing when he does."

"Well, thank you again, Dr. Phao…." Morrison began.

"Oh, you'll see me again," Phao replied with what may have been a wink. "Now, run along to House."