Hi everyone! Here's a new drabble. It's set in season seven, no episode in particular. Hope you'll enjoy it!

Thank you for reading. I'll see you soon!

36. You can go first.

"We're getting old, aren't we?"

Cuddy looked up at him. House had just interrupted his search for his reading glasses to inform her of that fact.

"Why? You've got Alzheimer's 'cause you can't find your glasses?"

"No, I'm old because I need my glasses in the first place." He finally located them by the television, slipped them onto his nose and sat back on the couch. Cuddy handed him the magazine he'd abandoned on the coffee table. "I have to face it. I have presbyopia."

"Alright." She put her feet back on his lap, and started fanning herself with her paperback. "You said we. So why am I getting old?"

"This." He pointed at her book. "Hot flashes. You're menopausal."

Cuddy froze. There was a pause during which she stared at his face, before she blinked and resumed reading her novel. "Shut up, I'm premenopausal at best."

He frowned. "You didn't know you hit menopause?"

"I said, I'm premenopausal at best."

Her tone left no room for further questions. Arching an eyebrow, House decided to let it go for now, and focused his attention on his article instead.

But of course, he had to find out more when they settled in bed.

"So menopause isn't that bad," he said as she was about to turn off the lights.

She sighed and let her arm drop on the bed, knowing there was no way out of this conversation. She shouldn't have let him see it was bothering her. The man was like a dog with a bone.

"You won't have to deal with your periods anymore. Sure you'll gain some weight, but I'm sure it'll be redistributed nicely," he said, grabbing her hip for emphasis.

Cuddy swatted his hand away. "Will you just shut up?"

"Okay." He raised himself on his elbow. "I'm sure I'm gonna regret asking that, but… what's going on with you?"

Cuddy rolled onto her back, took a deep breath. "If I'm menopausal, I won't have a baby. Ever," she admitted, averting her eyes. "It's over."

"Cuddy, you're barren."

"I am not, I just failed to conceive. Which isn't that surprising, given that the success rate of in-vitro is, like, thirty percent. If I'd had just another chance, maybe I…" The words tumbled out of her month, her throat closing up before she could finish her sentence.

He brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. "I'm sorry, Cuddy," he said with all the sincerity he was capable of.

She shook her head. "Let's just go to sleep. It's late."

Cuddy switched off her bedside lamp, and House did the same. She lay flat on her back but, after a short hesitation, decided to lie on her flank, facing away from him. House did so as well and curled his hand around her hip, though staying at a reasonable distance from her.

He heard her sigh after a few minutes. "House?"

"Yeah?"

"If we're growing old, you can go first."

He chuckled. "Okay. I'll go bald if you want me to."

"No, that's fine. I like your sexy ruffled hair. You can keep it."

He rubbed her iliac crest with his thumb through her camisole, letting silence settle between them for a minute. This time she didn't push his hand away. "I'll go blind," he said quietly. "Use a walker. Or one of those golf carts like those obnoxious people at the supermarket."

She laughed.

Mission accomplished.