In Sickness… Well, Sort Of
A/N: Hey all! Kudos to, uh, Chromo26 for the suggestion. Short and sweet. I hope y'all like it!
Dedication: Chromo26 for the constant, wonderful reviews throughout House and Cuddy's emotional rollercoaster, also known as my other story, "It's Raining."
Disclaimer: Sadly, they ain't mine. Just plain sucks, huh?
"I'b not sick."
House lifted his cane in the air, gently bringing it down to tap lightly on Cuddy's head. "Uh, yeah, you are." He smirked at her, clearly enjoying the situation.
Lisa Cuddy was curled up on her soft couch, smothered in blankets, cheeks flushed red, eyes slightly glazed over, a box of Kleenex beside her on the small wooden table, and her hair piled messily on top of her head, though a few curls had managed to fight their way out of the thin elastic band that restrained them.
She glared up at him with all the anger she could muster. "Go 'way."
"Oh, but this is so much more fun!" House continued to silently laugh at her, blue eyes dancing.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Well duh." House made a dumb face. "Unless you've been eating that icky white tissue… which would be rather disgusting…"
"'esderday. I'b not sick."
House rolled his eyes, letting his head loll back and rotate around, stretching it. "Say friend."
"No, friend." He snickered.
He laughed. "You, Cuddy, are very sick. What's your temperature?"
"I dudo. I'b too tired to go edd get it. Leebee 'lode."
"No, I'm not going to leave you alone. Who knows, you could suddenly die and then where would I be? I need someone to make fun of everyday." House protested.
"I'll be fide. Leeb. Now." Cuddy pointed lazily at the door, to which House batted at her arm with his cane. "Now, House. Go hobe. You're godda get sick too."
In answer, House turned around, hobbled to the kitchen, and didn't reappear for another ten minutes. When he did, he had ditched his cane, was limping very slowly, and holding a tray with extreme caution. A steaming hot bowl of soup, a mug of herbal tea, and a plate of crackers filled it up.
He set it in her lap. "What am I, your babysitter?"
"House…" she whined tiredly.
"I told you so." Cuddy's hands were planted on her hips.
"No deed to tank me," House mumbled, scowling at her and sniffling. He balled up a Kleenex and yawned, half-heartedly throwing it at her. He, like she, was completely covered in blankets from head to toe. Three day stubble decorated his chin, and his hair was sticking up in random places all over his head. Cuddy found it almost endearing how cute he looked. She shook her head.
House growled at her as she fluttered around the room, cleaning up tissues, standing pill bottles back up, and refilling his water and soup bowl.
"Thank you," she huffed.
"I'b godda die. I dob't wot a fuderal. I dob't like eddy wud eddyway. Leebee 'lode."
"Hah." The corners of Cuddy's mouth tugged upward. "As if."
"What're you gonna do, whack me with this again?" Cuddy held up the object and prodded his stomach with it. House groaned. "Don't think so, buddy." She leaned down close and placed her cool hand on his warm forehead. "How's your fever?"
"I dob't hab a feber" was his snuffled response. Without warning, one hand snaked out, encircled her wrist, and pulled her against his lips.
The kiss was pretty much the worst one ever.
So why was she smiling?
"I'm sure you don't," she said, and sashayed away. "But whenever your non-fever goes away, you're welcome to do that again."