Title: Tea Time
Author: bookgodess15 
Rating: PG-13, two swear words
Pairing: House/Chase
Summary: Chase is sick. House is nice. It doesn't get any fluffier than this.
Disclaimer: I don't own House & Co.
Notes: A challenge!fic from maeve100 that I wrote last night in about twenty minutes, edited this morning and am posting now!  It's nothing of great significance, just what pops into my head when you give me "Britain, crazy, infatuation, quaint and sad" as writing prompts, and I give myself thirty minutes to write.  Unbeta'd, because I think my beta would whack me over the head for the sheer OOC-ness and self-indulgence present in this piece.

Tea Time

When he and Chase had started fucking ("Dating." "Fucking." "Dating."), one of the first things that House had had to deal with was the tea. Chase drank coffee like a nice, normal person would, but only in the mornings or when he needed an extra burst of energy. In the evenings, he liked a cup of tea. Not even nice, normal sweet tea—House could have dealt with that. Oh, no. Chase had at least half a dozen boxes of imported tea from Great Britain, and there were probably even more back at his apartment that he didn't dare bring over. (He'd already had to fish a few of them out of the garbage twice, when House hadn't had room in his cupboards for something of greater importance, like Cheetos.)

The number of different kinds of tea alone was crazy—there was black tea, Earl Grey, English Breakfast, chamomile, and some pomegranate thing didn't come in bags, but required a spherical sieve-like thing... God knew how many more Chase kept back at his place. A golden teddy bear sat next to the six boxes kept in House's cupboards, always wiped clean after each use, and beside that was a quaint little box of wrapped sugar cubes. Chase also kept a half-gallon of milk in the fridge reserved for his tea, which House had learned the hard way not to touch under any circumstances. There were also, occasionally, lemons.

House picked a bag out of the box labeled "Chamomile" and eyed the microwave as the numbers counted down. The mug in there was one of his own, something that Wilson had bought for him while at a conference in California. It had pictures of all the great moustaches of the world on it. House was rather fond of it.

Chase also made tea when he couldn't sleep. House had been awoken by the ding of the microwave more times than he could count, stumbling out of bed to find Chase curled up on the couch, mug of tea in hand, staring at the blank TV screen. Nightmares were always followed by a cup of tea, as well as surgeries gone wrong and the anniversaries of his parents' deaths. House held a private suspicion that Chase's mother had something to do with this infatuation with tea, and Chase's tendency to seek it out when he needed calming, but he'd never voiced it.

The microwave went off. House yanked the door open and pulled out the mug by its handle, wary of the fact that the water inside was almost boiling. He set it on the counter carefully, then put the tea bag in.

He watched the tea slowly darken for a moment, then went for the honey. "Squeeze the bottle and count to six," Chase had instructed, and House did so. He pulled on the string a bit, trying to get it to steep quickly. In theory, there were different amounts of time that you were supposed to steep different teas, but the water in the mug had darkened to a faint brown, and that was good enough for House.

Now very aware of the curls of steam rising from the mug, House picked it up and took his cane in his other hand, then cautiously limped out of the kitchen.

In the bedroom, Chase was in a sad state. Buried deep beneath the covers, sniffling every few seconds and coughing wetly about once every minute, he was pathetic even when you couldn't see him.

House eyed the lump of bedding. "Hey. I have your stupid tea."

A sniffle.

Chase's head poked out from under the blanket, revealing a pale, sweaty face, red-rimmed eyes and hair in such disarray it couldn't possibly be obeying the laws of physics. His eyes went to the steaming mug in House's hand, and he sniffled again. He managed a weak smile.

Heaving a sigh, House made his way over to the bed and sat down, setting the mug on the nightstand.

Next to him, Chase was pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Temperature first," House announced, pulling the thermometer out.

Chase groaned, but he ended up coughing. "Nuh-uh," he managed, in between bouts.

House considered pushing it, but as Chase continued to hack up mucus, he decided that it might be more important to get the coughing under control first so that Chase could get a proper reading from the thermometer. So instead, when it seemed that Chase was finally finished with his coughing fit, House laid a hand on his forehead and did his best to approximate.

"Still not under a hundred and one," he muttered, frowning.

Making a despairing noise in the back of his throat, Chase held out his hands pitifully for his mug of tea.

House rolled his eyes set down the thermometer and picked up the mug. "All right. But I swear to god, if you get one drop of tea on my sheets..."

But the moment Chase's hand closed around the mug, he seemed to lose most of his will to stay awake. With an exhale his head slumped back and his eyes closed, and House made to snatch the mug back but Chase managed to keep it level somehow.

House raised his eyebrows instead. "Want me to take it back?"

Chase shook his head, making a clear effort to open his eyes. They were still glassy with fever. "Sorry. Tired."

"Maybe you should sleep, then," House suggested.

This, of course, made Chase all the more stubborn and he grasped the tea mug with two hands before raising it to his lips.

"Too hot?" House asked, as Chase lowered it.

Chase shook his head, closing his eyes. "It's perfect."

He verified this by taking several more long sips of it before collapsing back again, breathing hard. His skin looked almost pallid.

"Okay," House said, gently taking the mug of tea out of Chase's hands. "Time for sleeping."

"No," Chase protested, opening his eyes as the mug was taken away, but his words triggered more coughing.

House set the mug of tea on the nightstand and then turned around, gently pushing Chase back down under the covers just as Chase managed to stop coughing again. Although somewhat irritated that his tea-making efforts had gone mostly to waste, House felt bad enough for Chase that he wasn't too annoyed. As Chase snuggled down into the covers, making little whimpering noises, House couldn't help but reach out and stoke his hair until Chase's breathing had evened out, and the tea had gone quite cold.