Pudding.
Upon hearing the word pudding, most would think of the food. You did too, or you used to. Now you think of hospitals, labs, bones, and Bones, and tested faith in your country.
When you're in the hospital – taking a bullet, being blown up, whatever – you get your pudding; the only highlight of the experience. It's for her. Everything you do is for her. You don't even know when that started, but over the years, you've noticed it, and wouldn't change it for the world. Mostly because she is your world now.
You think of her setting two bones onto two bowls of pudding, one bone resting on top, and the other slowly, but surely, sinking down. She tells you it wasn't the president. And you believe her. You know that you'd do anything for her, and it's starting to seem that she'd do the same.
It's these thoughts that run through your mind as you lay on the lumpy mattress, head resting on flat and lifeless pillows. Your wounds are all stitched up and she's requesting more chocolate pudding from a nurse before returning to your bedside.
She sits down and picks up the latest anthropology journal out of her bag. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments. On a whim, you reach for her hand, holding cautiously it in yours. She looks up at you and her smile reaches her clear blue eyes before she goes back to her reading.
You feel her squeeze your hand as you absentmindedly rub your thumb across the back of hers and your smile grows. Maybe there are more upsides to being in the hospital than just the pudding after all.