Hi guys! I'm back with another drabble. Meant to publish it earlier, but sadly I was too busy fighting off a cold (you'll see the irony of that in a minute) to function...

This one is set in season 7, no episode in particular. (if we agree that season 7 stops right before the final five minutes of Bombshells. Obviously.)

Before I let you read, I would like to thank all of you for your lovely feedback last time. You're amazing.

34. Here, drink this. You'll feel better.

"I think I'm dying," House informed Cuddy as she walked into their bedroom, carrying a steaming hot mug.

She chuckled, sat beside him on the bed. He'd buried himself under layers of blankets, resting his head on the mountains of pillows she usually used – and which he'd made fun of her about before. "No, you're not."

"I'm a doctor, pretty sure I know what I'm talking about."

"You have a cold!"

"I'm never doing clinic duty again," he said with a pout. "It's too dangerous."

"You haven't been to the clinic in over ten days, much to my despair," she reminded him. "Maybe you wouldn't have caught a cold if you hadn't kept your wet socks on after playing in the snow with Rachel, you big baby." He glanced up at her. "I'm a mom, I know what I'm talking about."

She put her hand over his forehead; the paracetamol she'd given him earlier had worked its magic on his fever, but she barely had time to pull away before he coughed violently into a tissue. Much to her dismay, he tossed the balled up tissue on the floor, right next to half a dozen of them.

"At least the runny nose part is over. You just need to cough it out till you're better."

"Cough it out until I die," he insisted. She could hear the rattle in his chest as he cleared his throat. "Maybe you should do the Heimlich maneuver on me before I drown in my own mucus." He paused, gave it a thought. "With your breasts pressed against my back."

"Here, drink this," she said as she handed him the mug. "You'll feel better."

"What's in it, strychnine? Cyanide? Hemlock?" he asked as he nevertheless wrapped his hands around the warm cup. "You must put an end to my suffering, Cuddy."

She rolled her eyes. "It's hot milk with honey and cinnamon."

He took a long sip. The warm beverage did wonders to his throat and chest. He swore he could feel his lungs clear up right away – was that even possible? "Yeah, s'not that bad."

Cuddy smirked, caressed his hair as he kept on drinking. "Get some rest," she told him when she plucked the empty mug from his hands.

"Won't you kiss me before you leave?" he asked, puckering his lips.

Cuddy laughed and bolted out of the bed. "Keep your rhinovirus to yourself!" She ducked out of the room just in time to dodge the dirty tissue he threw in her direction.