Trauma
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Wilson stopped in his tracks. "Could you say that again, please?" he prompted House, who was now a few metres ahead of him – something he thought was rather impressive for someone who was short exactly one femoral thigh muscle. "Just so the entire hospital can hear you, if you don't mind."

House rolled his eyes, and walked back to where Wilson was standing in the hallway of the Witherspoon Wing.

"I can't—" he whispered as surreptitiously as he could, leaning towards Wilson with an air of melodrama. "Cuddy might hear me!"

Wilson fixed him with a level stare. House rolled his eyes.

"Hi, my name is Gregory House, and some days I almost don't mind clinic duty." He put his finger to his chin. "Keyword being almost."

Wilson thought there were many things he could say right now - all involving a heavy dose of sarcasm and maybe just a dash of wit to go with it. Instead, he chose the glaringly obvious route.

"Why?"

He tapped his cane against the ground. "See, sometimes— very rarely, mind you," he added, as an afterthought. "It's nice having incredibly easy cases to work on. No effort required. No dying idiots and all that communication that comes with treating them." He paused. "Then again, the fact that they're idiots, but not actually dying might in fact be the root of the problem." He snapped his fingers, thought process complete.

Wilson nodded slowly, not entirely sure whether he was serious. House sighed, turned his face towards the heavens, as if he were tossing out his question to God. "Why is it that the clinic seems to attract the most idiotic, not-dying people in all of New Jersey?" he challenged the roof of the hospital, sighing dramatically.

Wilson tipped his head to the side, brow furrowed as if he were thinking very hard. "Does it have anything to do with the fact it's a free clinic?"

House smiled, enjoying the vaguely constipated look that Wilson wore when he was being sarcastic. "Well, you ponder that while I go off to watch Ge— I mean, work, of course," he finished quickly, catching sight of Cuddy leaning precariously over one of the desks at the nurse's station, talking amiably with some of the nurses. He turned around, walking towards the station with what could well be called a smile on his face. Cuddy looked suitably disbelieving at this, and looked over at Wilson, who shrugged.

"Have fun," Wilson called out to him, with a smirk.

Tamara Jaber was a typical-looking patient for the area, like Wilson had so kindly pointed out earlier – the so-blonde-it's-yellow hair and thick, panda-esque rings of eyeliner around her eyes seemed to give her a striking resemblance to the prostitutes that tended to frequent House's apartment. Judging from that, and her short, denim skirt, which kept riding up, because she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs - she probably was.

House tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "Right. Good morning, sick person: meet the doctor. My soap is starting in thirteen minutes, so let's get this over quickly. What's wrong with you?" he asked. And clicked his fingers. "Oh! I know—"

"It's. . . well, like, down there," she said, hanging her head.

"Well, obviously," he said, twirling a pen in his fingers and flipping through the woman's chart. "Lumps and bumps? Burns when you pee?"

She shook her head. "It smells funny. My boyfriend told me—" House went to speak, looking disgusted, but she caught herself. "Oh my god, I thought you were supposed to be, like, a doctor or something." House looked as if he were going to say something cutting in response, face beginning to twist itself into knots, but she hurriedly finished talking. "And sometimes, yeah – it starts, like, dripping sometimes. It's really gross."

House sighed. "Well, guess it's time for an exam." He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves as obnoxiously as he could, telling her to lie down on the bed over next to the wall. She did so, pulling down her skirt, and spreading her legs.

It was right about then he decided to retract his earlier statement to Wilson.

"Looks like an infection," he said. "Have you been doing anything interesting lately? Looking up tricks on the internet? Never a good idea, trust me." His nose wrinkled as he looked closer. "Oh— that certainly looks disgusting. What have you been doing?"

Tamara sighed, looking as if she were close to tears. "It all started when Mikey was getting a little bored with me. . ."

House plunked his laden tray down unceremoniously opposite Wilson, who was in the feeding himself yoghurt with peach pieces when he looked up.

"Hey," he greeted him with a nod. He finished swallowing. "Why do you look so— well, for want of a better word, happy?"

"You're eating yoghurt," House pointed out.

Wilson stared. "What's your point? You're not having any."

"Well, after what I've just endured, I really don't mind. It's funny you're eating yoghurt, though, because—"

Wilson pointed his spoon at him as threateningly as he could. "Okay, judging from your somewhat disturbing smile, I'm fairly certain I don't want to know." He resumed eating. "So, how was your morning? Clinic duty almost fun? I'm glad. Cuddy'll throw a party," he finished, leaning forward and attempting to steal a chip off House's tray.

House's face lit up. "Oh, you'll love this story!" he said, whacking Wilson's hand with a fork. He glared at House, who poked his tongue out. House leant forward conspirationally. "So, there was this hooker who came into the clinic this morning, right—"

"Please tell me it wasn't Paula."

"Nope. Anyway, she was in for vaginal pain. So I had to perform an examination, and, well. . ." he trailed off.

"Fine, how many STDs did she have?"

"Oh, no, no - it was just a measly infection. But the clincher. . . " he paused for effect. "Guess how she contracted it?"

"Once again, not too sure I want to know."

"Well, the woman had been spooning yoghurt into her vagina to get herself off, and some of it was left behind. God knows why - I can't imagine yoghurt is particularly stimulating down there. But what would I know?"

Wilson choked on his yoghurt. House grinned victoriously. "And, look! What's that you're eating?" he asked mock-innocently, leaning back in his chair and watching yoghurt drip slowly down Wilson's lovely dress shirt.

Yeah, definitely not sexually stimulating.

"Thank you so much for sharing," Wilson spluttered, attempting to wipe the yoghurt off his tie with a napkin but only succeeding in making it look like Wilson had ca— okay, House was going to stop thinking right now.

"It's kind of funny that you're not actually questioning whether I made this up," House mused, leaving those thoughts well behind and picking up a chip and popping it into his mouth. Wilson leant forward with his face buried in his hands, shaking his head. "It says a lot about people, doesn't it?"

"Why the hell would anyone want to put yoghurt in. . ." Wilson was unable to finish his sentence, face scrunching up as he trailed off. "Yoghurt!" he finished pleadingly. He got up, holding his half-finished tub of said substance in his hands. "Well, there's no way I'm eating this now. Thanks a lot."

"Why waste a perfectly good container of yoghurt? I'm sure there's better things you can do with it!" House yelled out to Wilson's retreating back, leaning back in his seat and grinning. Wilson shook his head.

People, these days.

A/N: PLZ DON'T BLAME ME. Blame it on the "Things I Learn From My Patients" thread in the ER section of the Student Doctor Forums. Scarily enough, this was based on a true story. Oh man, that's thread's some hilarious shit.