moose_mcmoose | The Comeback of The Ford Fairmont (Part 2)- Yogurt

Title: The Comeback of The Ford Fairmont (Part 2)- Yogurt
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG (mentions of food, more specifically yogurt and chicken) sick!wilson, caring!House (with his own special brand)
Words: 2100
Disclaimer: I don't own them. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: Second part to the first part which can be found here. I would suggest reading the first part first, obviously. Set about a week after the first part. Wilson's hating the hospital food so House sets out to fix that problem.

"So you jumped into the road to avoid the car?"

"Don't..." Wilson was to going to raise his hands to stave off House's incoming missile of sarcasm, but then a sharp pain in his left shoulder reminded him that this was no longer possible. His defences were weakened; a pathetic waft of his right hand was all he could manage. "Don't start. I feel like enough of an idiot already."

"That's because..."

"I am an idiot. Yeah, yeah, I think we've established that already. Several times."

House hijacked a cup of juice from Wilson's tray and swallowed down the contents. "Tell me again, please. Just so I have this right. You were walking. A car skidded towards you so you, in your infinite wisdom, moved into the middle of the road because, as we both know, it's very rare for someone standing in the middle of a road to get hit by a car."

"I had no other choice!" Wilson sighed, tipping his head back into the pillows beneath, muttering prayers under his breath. Nurse. Sedative. Deafness. Something.

"You could have jumped the other way. You know, not onto the road. Not many cars there oddly enough."

"If I had jumped the other way I would have been killed. Not being killed seemed like the lesser of two evils at the time." Wilson grimaced as a bolt of pain ran up his leg. "Now I'm not so sure."

House screwed his face up in contempt and tossed the offending cup of juice into the trash can nearby. "You should be lucky you didn't have to drink that." He hacked a cough and clawed his tongue in an attempt to scrap the last remnants of the foul tasting juice from his taste buds.

"I would have drank it if somebody hadn't stolen it."

"Well you should be glad I did. God Wilson you're so ungrateful." House reached out and spooned some banana yogurt into his mouth. Some banana yogurt being Wilson's banana yogurt.

Wilson pulled the tray towards him, determined not to lose any more of his dinner to the slippery fingers of Gregory House. "There's a vending machine outside, not to mention a cafeteria downstairs. Get your own food." He stabbed a plastic fork into one of the over-boiled carrots that lay on his plate before stuffing it into his mouth. It made a pleasant and welcome change for him to have actual solid food to chew on instead of the blended slop of random edible entities that he had been fed the past four days.

"Someone's pissy." House wiggled his jacket pocket for loose change and produced a five dollar bill.

"You'd be pissy too if you'd been hit by a car." Wilson licked the spot of gravy that had dripped onto his lower arm. Eating with his right hand was proving deceptively difficult. "Seriously House, this is the first solid meal I've had here. Even though it's...mildly disgusting, I'd still like to eat it."

House pouted before rising from his chair. "I can't believe I have to go and pay for something in the cafeteria. These things you make me do."

"Oh poor you." Wilson nudged the now empty plate of food to the side and started on his half full tub of yogurt. He hated banana yogurt but it was all he had to savour for the next few hours. Looking up, he saw House still pouting, limping his way out into the corridor. "The pleading cripple act isn't going to get you any more of my yogurt House."

House slid open the glass partition and popped his head into the corridor. "WHAT'S THAT DOCTOR WILSON? YOU WON'T SHARE YOUR FOOD WITH A STARVING CRIPPLE. AND YOU USED TO BE SUCH A NICE MAN!" Several nurses in the foyer stopped their file flipping and glared at the source of the racket.

One squat, stern nurse, whom House identified to be Wilson's current dinner lady, approached him with purpose. "Will you keep it down please? We have patients trying to sleep."

"At two-thirty in the afternoon? I doubt it. Plus coma patients can't hear me. And the ones with head injuries probably don't know what's going on anyway."

"I'll have to inform Dr. Cuddy." The nurse gave a poisonous glare and turned on her heels.

"That's right. She'll hypnotise me outta here with her luscious breasts. I see what you're doing. Nice ploy nursey!" House turned and winked at Wilson, whose look could only be described as one of despair.

"Must you aggravate the nurses. More specifically my nurse." Wilson blinked, his eyelids heavy and slow, finding the act of doing very little was just as tiring as doing too much.

"Don't give me that. You would do it too if you weren't too busy thinking of ways to get into their pants."

"Yes because she was smoking hot." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"She was wasn't she?" House simulated a squeeze of a breast.

"She looked like Robert De Niro."

"Now who's being insensitive? Anyway, I was thinking more Marlon Brando circa nineteen-ninety."

Wilson guffawed, almost choking on his mouthful of yogurt.

House knocked the partition open fully with the butt of his cane. "I'll be back in five after I've wasted my money on an over priced sandwich."

Wilson nodded. Sinking into his pillows once more, he gave the tray a gentle shove to the side, clearing the way for him to wiggle further into the blankets and get some much wanted, and much needed, sleep. He began carefully shuffling himself down the bed, leaning to his right as not to irk his left shoulder, which was gracefully held up in a sling. After a few geriatric-like manoeuvres he was comfortable as he could possibly get and the Demerol was finally kicking in, taking the edge off the pain that radiated from his torso and left leg.

He didn't know how he had managed to somehow centre all of his injuries onto one side of his body. But four cracked ribs, one dislocated shoulder, one cracked collarbone, one bruised kidney and a fractured ankle showed that he indeed managed to bust up his left side, with a superficial scrape on his right cheek only aiding to highlight the odd distribution in his injuries. House had joked, obviously, saying it was God's way of telling him he wasn't designed to be left handed and he should take the hint and start writing properly. The doctors were just impressed at how Wilson had survived.

The police had approximated the car was travelling at about 45mph when it struck him. More than enough to kill and certainly more than enough to cause lasting damage. Apart from the bruised kidney and the Grade II concussion, he had suffered no internal injuries. Sure, there was bruising, a beautiful blue and purple patchwork spread across his chest and abdomen, and the odd laceration here and there, but nothing that couldn't be fixed or healed over time. House had labeled him 'boring' but Wilson knew he meant 'lucky' and he was sure House was glad he had been lucky.

He was sure because, according to the nurses and Cuddy, House had never left the hospital for the first three days, only leaving his room to change his underwear. House had even blown off a new case, handing it over to Foreman and his ducklings to decipher on their own. Wilson was also pretty sure he felt House holding his hand on a couple of occasions, although he'd told himself it was probably an hallucination caused by the trauma and the drugs. He was pretty sure House wouldn't admit to it anyway even if it was true.

True to his word, House returned. Whether it was five minutes or five hours Wilson wasn't sure. Time spans had become irrelevant when the only thing on the agenda was sleep and food. He had only just managed to get his mind drifting when the thunk-thud of cane disturbed his impending sleep. House was moving something or had something heavy in his grasp, judging by the dramatic groaning and straining Wilson could hear.

He dare not open his eyes; he was too close to actually getting to sleep. Staring at harsh white light was just going to wake him up again. "House? What are you doing?"

"Line dancing." Another grunt followed by a heavy thud of something weighty landing on the chair. "That was my Billy Ray Cyrus CD collection you just heard in my bag."

"I'm not opening my eyes." Wilson tried to peek out the bottom of his semi-closed eyelid but House was out of his line of vision.

"I know you're curious." House unzipped the rucksack on the chair. "Your insatiable need to know everything will lead you to looking. I'll just sit here and wait until you do."

Wilson stayed resolute.

"Oh come on Wilson. If I told you had breasts would that change your mind?" House began placing items from his rucksack onto the table.

"No because I'd know you were lying. Unless Marlon Brando circa nineteen-ninety has given in to your caustic charm."

"Maybe she has. I mean who wouldn't?"

Wilson sighed. He had talked himself back from the brink of sleep. There was no point in not looking any more. Growling under his breath, he stubbornly opened his eyes, lifting his head from the pillows to see what the hell House was playing at. "Where the hell did you get all this from?"

House smiled before waving a hand over the fifty or so tubs of vanilla yogurt that adorned the table and chair around Wilson's bed. "The cafeteria. Or do you think I have some sort of yogurt provider on speed dial next to my hookers?"

"But...but you only had five dollars."

House nodded. "I may have improvised somewhat with my methods."

Wilson's eyes widened. "You stole them?!"

"Stole is such a strong word Wilson. I'm gonna say I borrowed them."

"Are you planning on taking them back?"

"No." House peeled the lid of one of the tubs, cleaned Wilson's spoon with a tissue and dug in. "I don't think they would appreciate fifty empty tubs of yogurt."

Wilson paused before shaking away the look of confusion that had fallen across his face.

"These are for you anyway." House pointed the dripping spoon towards the table, where a bunch of tubs lay neatly around the magazines.

"All of them!" Wilson counted twenty-four tubs overall.

"Well you don't have to eat them right now." House licked another spoon of yogurt into his mouth, leaving a trail of white liquid across his teeth. "You can swap them for the banana yogurt. Of course you'll have to do it when the nurse isn't looking." He clocked the vacancy of Wilson's expression. "I noticed your look of disdain eating that yogurt. I didn't know you hated bananas."

"I don't hate bananas." Wilson gestured for House to pass a tub from the table. " But banana yogurt tastes like wood adhesive. And before you start, no I have not eaten wood adhesive. I was trying to make a point." He gently held the tub in his left hand and pulled at the lid flap with the other in order to get it open, though the lid had other ideas.

"Gimme that. You're gonna get it all over yourself." House grabbed the tub and peeled it open with apparent ease.

"I don't have a spo-"

House produced a spoon from his jacket pocket and passed it to Wilson.

"Thanks." Wilson smiled and scooped a sumptuous lump of yogurt, savouring the taste of delicious food that had been so sorely lacking. Then he hit a potential snag. "House?"

"Mm-mm." House was on his third tub now, wolfing the first two down like a mad man.

"Don't we need a fridge to keep these in?"

House stared blankly. "Of course I know that. Stop worrying and eat your damn yogurt."

Wilson shrugged and carried on eating the yogurt, dropping the empty plastic tub into the bin once he had finished. He passed on eating another, feeling that too much would just make him sick. Normally, he wouldn't encourage House to break the law but it was only yogurt; he doubted the hospital would freak out over missing food and God it was good. "Do you take requests?"

House snorted a laugh. "Sure. What do you want?"

"A chicken sandwich would be nice." Wilson smiled, dimples flaring to make him look about ten years old.

House took another spoon of food and winked. "I'll see what I can do."

Current Mood: groggy
Current Music: Beach Baby- Bon Iver