ok, this is starting to cause me some problems, because I started to post this on a one-word prompt before plotting it out properly. But we will get there in the end, I promise!
And thank you to TigreMalabarista for all the info about Housten.
John swore under his breath as he was pushed back to his room. Physiotherapy sucked. Hospitals sucked. Painkillers sucked. Lack of painkillers sucked. And physiotherapy particularly sucked.
Despite all the progress he had made over the last few days the consultant had been resolute there would be no discharge until he could manage his own transfers from the chair.
Many people might assume that floating around in space all day was not physically straining but not only did he have to maintain a level of fitness sufficient to carry out a successful solo rescue, pushing and pulling around the station twenty four seven was a constant workout. So at least he wasn't starting from a zero position and he was used to using his arms more than his legs, but it was still bloody difficult to go through his daily exercises.
John was only able a couple of shaky steps before his knees gave out and it burned that he had to be helped so much. He was making progress - slow as it was after his long sleep – but as he was used to making and keeping to his own timetable unrestricted by wobbly legs and aching muscles.
John's spirits were lifted when he heard a shout up ahead, and the pounding of feet bought Gordon in to sight. He and Alan had arrived not long before his physio session and it was a relief that they were still here: the days were long and his concentration wasn't quite there yet for catching up on his reading.
Gordon gave a cheeky smile and subtly elbowed the orderly out the way, taking the handles of his chair.
"I'll take over from here, I'm used to pushing these guys around."
Gordon waited until the orderly had retreated a safe distance, keen to get on with whatever other work they needed to do, before whispering to John. "Can't have any staff in your room just yet."
"Why? What have you done?" John asked with suspicion, trying to twist to see Gordon's face: the only true way to tell just how much trouble he had caused. He couldn't manage it though and gave up before he burst any stitches.
"Don't worry, they'll only mildly disapprove, though they will confiscate it. Alan is just getting the last while I set up." Gordon pushed him slowly to his private room in a manner, John was sure, that was designed to build tension. Gordon could be very melodramatic.
"Tell me, this isn't good for my blood pressure."
"Urgh, you have to use the guilt card don't you. Fine. Well, you remember this morning you were complaining about the food?"
"I was not complaining."
"You were too."
He hadn't complained about the food.
Alan had noticed his half eaten and congealed breakfast as John was getting ready for his physio. He had merely mentioned that practically everything he ate was dehydrated, rehydrated, reconstituted or made with more love than skill by their grandmother; and the contents of that bowl were still the worst thing he had ever eaten.
"Well, you were combing through my private medical records and making personal remarks." John reminded Gordon.
"I was not."
"You were too."
"I only glanced, and made the insightful and pertinent observation that you had lost weight since you woke up." Gordon said smugly, as if that made all the difference – a distinction that John refused to acknowledge.
"See personal."
"Damn it, John, they're not going to discharge you while you're losing weight, beanpole as you are, and you know that." Gordon sounded exasperated. Under that cheerful playful exterior as the soul of a personal trainer and could quote the nutritional content of any food you cared to name. And a heart full of concern for his family.
"Maybe if they had something a little more appetising on offer I might be inclined to eat it." John grumped. He ached all over, was tired all the time, and the tight feeling of healing skin pulled on his arms whenever he moved them. To be honest it just wasn't worth the effort it cost him to eat the 'food' here.
"Exactly." Gordon said in triumph. "So in order to avoid you having some kind of slurry pumped directly into your stomach I came up with this brilliant, nay genius, idea."
"I doubt that."
"I found a friendly looking janitor and asked him for the lowdown on this fair city, and as a result Alan and I have dashed to every high quality establishment to fetch you..." Gordon swept them into the room…
…... where, laid out on a variety wrappers and boxes was a display of more food than John had seen since last Thanksgiving. Well, maybe excluding the weekly Sunday family brunch.
On his side table were what looked like half a dozen burgers. The end of his bed was covered by an assortment of tex mex dishes and Alan was still wrestling with a bag that contained some sort of dessert.
"What is all this? John whispered in amazement.
"Just a few things – we went to Freddy's, Moe's a couple of other places. Nothing that wasn't recommended by a local though. And all he asked in return was a piece of pie."
Alan cut something thick, gooey and chocolatey and put it to one side on a paper plate that was labelled 'For Mr Hoid'.
"Let's hope he didn't want fruit pie – we're keeping all of that." Alan said with a grin.
"Guys! I don't think I'm meant to have this sort of food in here." John said with a soft smile at the feast of delicacies. He felt a faint pang of hunger at the smell of something actually appetizing for a change that he was looking forward to eating something for the first time since he woke up.
"Then you better eat it quick then though we'll help if you need it." Gordon said, handing him a fork. "If you're not going to be the sensible one then I guess it will be up to me and make sure you're fit enough to be discharged."
"You? The sensible one?" Alan scoffed, eyeing a particularly beastly looking burger.
Gordon screwed his face up in disgruntlement. "I know. It's weird. Sort yourself out so you can come home John, and things can go back to normal."