A/N: This chapter is pretty much all fluff, but I think it fits into the grand scheme of the story. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 2

House sat across the table from his friend watching him eat his breakfast.

"I thought you said you were starving."

"I am," Wilson said, munching on a piece of toast.

"You didn't eat your eggs."

Wilson stopped chewing and stared at his plate. "Eggs?"

"What else?" House asked, his attention drawn to the plate of food.

The other man shrugged. "I thought it was leftover Chinese."

House placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. "What is it with you and my cooking?" He took a drink of his black coffee taking a moment to savor the slightly bitter taste.

"Not sure." Wilson scratched his head. "This is just a guess but maybe your cooking actually does suck."

House appeared offended. "You keep reminding me. I happen to be a great cook."

"Right. You put ketchup on chicken."

"Your point being?"

"Your taste buds are fucked up. Probably from all that Vicodin." He spread some jam on his toast, taking another bite.

"The Vicodin that you continue to write for me." House reached into his pocket and retrieved his Vicodin bottle, holding it up and peering into it as he lightly shook it. "Speaking of which…I'm just about out."

Wilson dropped the toast onto his plate. "Already? Didn't I just write you a script two weeks ago?" He reached his hand out motioning for the other man to hand him the bottle. House put it back into his pocket.

"You're confused. Must be the concussion thing."

The oncologist shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. "You're taking advantage of me."

"If I wanted to take advantage of you, I would've done that last night. And it would've been a hell of a lot more fun." He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you won't have to write another script."

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "Is that a challenge?"

"That depends." House eyed the plate of food. "Will you eat the eggs?"

Wilson stared down at his plate and made a face. He looked back up at his friend. "Seriously?"

"I told you…I'm always serious."

"And if I eat these….eggs….does that mean you'll cut back on the Vicodin?"

House shifted in his chair to get more comfortable. "I didn't say that."

"I seem to be having a problem remembering. What exactly did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

Wilson took an exasperated breath. "Okay, spell it out for me. If I eat these….eggs….what will you do?"

House sat forward and peered into his friend's eyes. "I'll explore other pain management options."

The other doctor was dumbfounded. "It's that important to you that I eat?"

"It's that important to me that you eat my cooking."

Wilson looked up towards the ceiling in thought. He smiled, reaching his hand across the table towards his friend. "Deal."

House leaned forward and shook his hand. "Deal."

Picking up his fork, James cut a small piece of the half scrambled, half fried eggs. He quickly swallowed it, scrunching up his face.

"Well?"

He dropped the fork onto the table and wiped his mouth with his hand. "Bring me my pad…I'll write you a new script."

House smirked.

"You weren't serious anyway," James said, shaking his head. "Have you no honor? We shook hands on it."

House shrugged. "At least I got you to take one bite."

"Actually, they're not half bad." He picked up his fork and sliced off another piece of egg, a larger one this time. He quickly chewed and swallowed the food, opening his eyes wide in appreciation. "Reminds me of the good ole days." He continued to eat.

House was happy. "The good ole days….as in your Mother's cooking?"

"Nope….as in my undergraduate dorm days. We took our lives in our hands when we ate there too."

House laughed as he studied his friend, bringing to mind Wilson's pronounced confusion upon waking that morning. He did a good job of hiding his concern, smiling as he watched him eat.

tbc