Wilson sat up in bed, half opening one eye when he heard the motel room door open. He attempted to squeeze out "House, is that you?" but his throat was so sore he couldn't even manage it.
House grinned. "Brought us something to deal with both the heat and your laryngitis." He handed Wilson a small white paper bag with the logo of a pharmacy down the street. Wilson took out a small pill bottle and rasped "Can't swallow dry"
"I know, we can't all have the deep throat I do," House leered. "This'll help, vanilla boy." He handed Wilson a tall glass containing a French vanilla milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. "Got a strawberry one for myself too. I really wanted cherry but they were all out so I stole some of their glasses."
Wilson gave him an oh-for-god's-sake-House look but between the sore throat and how good that shake tasted and felt, he couldn't bring himself to complain. He did wonder who the chocolate one was for, though. Himself? House? Someone else?