He tossed restlessly on his bed, tangling himself in the covers as he sought some escape from the worsening discomfort that plagued him. The comforter and sheet only served to heighten the heat threatening to cook him from within, but kicking them off just brought back the chills that shook him until his teeth rattled. And no matter where he put his head - on the pillow, off the pillow, under the pillow - it throbbed mercilessly. He briefly considered getting up and taking something for it, but reminded himself that a) he'd have to get up and b) he'd have to swallow whatever he took. And right now, neither one struck him as a particularly good idea.

Hell, it already felt like he'd swallowed razor blades ...

He groaned sickly, or actually squeaked sickly, and rolled over again onto his stomach, half hoping he'd just suffocate himself in his pillow and be done with it. But his self-preservation instincts proved even stronger than his misery and he turned his head to one side, resigned to living. Through the tangled mass of long hair that veiled his face, he saw again the red numbers taunting him from the digital clock. 4:48 a.m.

"Fuck."

He winced and stiffened as the growled - or squeaked - curse only jarred the razor blades already slicing through his throat. Forgetting the time, forgetting everything except the pain and sickness battering relentlessly at him, he exhaled without making a sound and curled onto his side, reaching for the other pillow and clutching it tightly to him. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the pillow, breathing in deeply the faint scent that still lingered there and drifting away upon thoughts of the man who'd become his surest source of comfort.

Buck set his coffee on his desk and then folded his long, lanky frame into his chair, eyeing the cup before him with anticipation. Tanner hadn't gotten in yet, which meant he hadn't made the coffee, which meant it stood a better than fair chance of actually being drinkable. Buck sighed happily and reached for the cup, a bright grin spreading over his face.

It was the little things in life that gave a man pleasure ...

Before his hand connected with the cup, his telephone rang and an exasperated sigh escaped him. Hell, it figured. He finally had coffee worth drinking, and it was gonna have to wait. Some mornings were just like this.

He caught the phone on its second ring and lifted the receiver to his ear. "Agent Wilmington," he boomed cheerfully into it. "How can I be of service?"

Silence held at the other end for a moment before a scratchy and unnaturally high-pitched voice asked, "Bucklin?"

Buck winced deeply and shuddered at the painful squeak, then sat up straight as the name hit him. "Damn, Vin!" he said sharply, shooting another look at Tanner's empty desk. "Is that you? What the hell's wrong with ya, Junior?"

That question immediately garnered the full attention of the two other agents in the room. Josiah's heavy brows pulled down low over his eyes as a frown creased his blunt-featured face, and Nathan shot out of his chair and stalked to Buck's desk, hovering over the man and staring at the phone he held as if he could see and make a diagnosis through it.

"Is Chris there?"

Again that ravaged voice drew a sympathetic grimace from Buck. Absently raising a hand to rub his own throat, he answered, "No, Junior, he ain't. He's in that meeting with Travis and the FBI honchos about the Phelps case, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Vin breathed hoarsely. "Tell 'im I won't be in t'day, 'kay? I feel like shit."

"Yeah, you sound like it, too," Buck commiserated, realizing it had to be bad if Vin was admitting to it. "Say, you need me ta call Chris? Get him out-"

"Naw, don't do that. Ain't that bad."

Buck doubted that, but knew better than to push it. "All right. Just tell me you're in bed an' takin' some kinda medicine, okay?" Silence at the other end met his request and he arched a dark brow. "Vin?"

A heavy sigh sounded, then, "I'm in bed, but I ain't takin' nothin'. Cain't. Hurts too much t' swalla'."

Buck frowned and looked up at Nathan, shaking his head. The medic scowled fiercely and set big hands on his hips, glaring at the phone.

"Tell Nate I heard that," Vin croaked.

"Gimme that!" Nathan could stand no more. He reached out and ripped the phone from Buck's hand, raising it to his own ear. "All right, what's wrong?" he demanded. Long silence greeted him and he could just see Tanner's eyes narrowing and that tongue working thoughtfully over the man's lower lip. "Uh-uh," he grunted, cutting off the lie he knew was coming. "You ain't fine, so don't even try it. You got Buck damn near poppin' aspirin' from just listenin' to ya."

A heavy sigh issued, then a meek voice scraped, "Throat hurts."

Nathan winced and hissed sharply and raised his free hand to his own throat. "Damn, Vin," he said more gently.

"'S why I ain't took nothin'. Hurts too much t' swalla'."

Nathan sighed and ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. Not only did the man's voice sound like hell, but his drawl had thickened and his grammar had deteriorated even beyond its usual fractured state, both signs that he was well and truly sick. "You runnin' a fever?"

Again that silence, then again that sigh. "Mebbe. Some." Another pause, another sigh. "Cain't find a the'mom'ter."

Nathan hung his head and closed his eyes, issuing a sigh of his own. He wasn't surprised. He thought he recalled Vin flinging his thermometer at him and sending it sailing out a window the last time he was sick. Hell, it was a true wonder these men weren't dead yet. It was a true wonder he wasn't dead yet.

Might be time to get his blood pressure checked again ...

"I'll come over-"

"Ain't no need," Vin interrupted in that high, rough, painful voice. "I'm all right."

Nathan turned and stared dumbly at Josiah, who only shrugged his shoulders. He didn't have to hear the other side of the conversation to know what was being said. None of them did.

"Vin-"

"Jist got a sore throat's all," he went on. "Head hurts a mite. Reckon I'm hot some, too. But I'm all right."

Nathan closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "You throwin' up any?" he asked just as Buck took a sip of coffee.

The big agent spewed the coffee over his desk and glared up at the medic, who appeared totally unconcerned.

"Vin?" Nathan prompted as silence again met his question.

"Ain't got much in me t' toss-"

"That ain't an answer. You tell me the truth - you throwin' up?"

Buck pushed his coffee away and sat back with a groan of disgust.

"Reckon so," came the tentative answer.

"A lot or a little?" Nathan persisted.

Buck shot up from his chair and turned away, only to see JD coming in to the office, a can of Vanilla Coke in one hand, an eclair in the other and creme filling trailing from the left corner of his mouth. Wilmington gagged and raced into the break room.

JD frowned and looked at Josiah. "What's with him?"

The profiler shrugged his heavy shoulders and sat back in his chair, enjoying the spectacle. "Vin's sick and Nathan's trying to diagnose him over the phone," he answered calmly.

JD thought about that for a moment, then nodded as understanding hit. "Asked about throwin' up, didn't he?" He turned and walked to his own desk. "Buck hates that." He held the eclair up over his shoulder. "Jan and Sam in research have a whole box of pastries from that new bakery," he announced. "They said they were savin' the chocolate ones for Vin, but since he's sick -"

Josiah needed no more invitation than that. Not sharing Buck's squeamishness, he hurried out of the office toward the research division.

Meanwhile, Nathan was still trying to deal with a sick but stubborn sharpshooter. "If you've got a fever, y' need t' see a doctor-"

"He'll jist gimme Motrin fer it an' I got that here."

Nathan pulled the receiver away from his ear, stared into it for long seconds, then put it back. "Don't do ya no good if y' ain't takin' it."

"Damn, he's good," JD muttered under his breath. He shoved the last third of the eclair into his mouth, chewed a few times, then washed it down with a shot of Vanilla Coke. And promptly started to choke.

"Oh, hell!" Nathan swore sharply. "Gotta go, Vin. JD's chokin'. I'll call y' right back!" He slammed down the phone and raced around to stand behind the young agent, then leaned down, wrapped strong arms around him and expertly performed the Heimlich maneuver. He delivered a few powerful thrusts, and JD disgorged a wad of eclair.

Just re-entering the bullpen, Buck Wilmington stopped dead in his tracks, turned green and raced out of the office, a big hand clapped desperately to his mouth.

Nathan stared down at the gasping JD in equal parts concern and disgust, shaking his head slowly. When he was certain the young man would be all right, he returned to Buck's phone, picked up the receiver and dialed Vin's number - and swore foully when he got the man's voice mail. Damn fool had turned off his phone!

JD jumped in his chair as the medic slammed the receiver onto its cradle, then watched in confusion as he stalked toward the office door. "Hey, where ya goin'?" he called.

"Dispensary!" Jackson snarled, never breaking his long, furious stride. "Need t' get my damn blood-pressure checked!"

JD blinked, his mouth hanging open, then shrugged. He opened his bottom desk drawer, pulled out a handful of napkins from countless fast food joints and cleaned up the mess on his desk. That done, he swiveled in his chair to look around, realizing that he was alone in the office. A slow grin spread over his face and he turned back to his computer, getting online and going to the Yahoo homepage.

Time to watch that trailer for "Hidalgo" again -

Vin clicked off his cell phone and dropped it onto the night stand, then fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and stay that way until whatever damn bug he'd picked up was out of his system. But the pain throbbing behind his eyes and searing through his throat simply wouldn't let him rest. He opened his eyes again and turned his head carefully toward the stand, fixing bleary eyes upon the bottle of ibuprofin sitting by a bottle of water.

Damn, he really hated it when Nathan was right.

He lay there for several moments, considering, but knew he didn't have a choice. He needed something, and it would be stupid not to take it. And, despite what Nathan might think, he wasn't stupid; just stubborn. And not at all looking forward to swallowing those damn pills.

But, hell, a man could put up with nearly anything if he had to.

He sighed, rolled over and pushed himself up onto one elbow, then reached for the bottle. He fought with it for a few moments to get the arrows on bottle and lid lined up just so, cursing child-proof caps as he did, but finally wrenched off the lid and shook three caplets into his palm. He capped the bottle again and set it back on the stand, then reached for the water. Before he could talk himself out of it, he tossed back the pills and washed them down, his face tightening into a mask of pain as he swallowed. But it was done. He replaced the water bottle on the stand, then lay back and closed his eyes, groaning softly as his hot, aching body settled against the mattress.

And tried not to think about what else, who else, he wished he was settling against instead.

Chris stepped out of the elevator at the eleventh floor, briefcase hanging heavily from one hand, and tugged at his tie to loosen it. Lines of annoyance creased his handsome face and he rolled his broad shoulders to ease the tension in them as he walked down the hallway toward his team's office suite. He hated these joint task force meetings. He knew they were important, knew they were crucial to ensuring the success of a major multi-agency operation like the Phelps case, but still he hated them. Especially when they turned into three-and-a-half-hour pissing contests. The ATF and FBI might now officially be "siblings" under the Justice Department, but it would take more than a mere act of Congress to thaw the frigid relations between the two bureaus.

And God forbid they should set aside their differences and focus on getting the bad guys ...

He forced his frustration aside as he neared the glass doors leading to his team's offices. At least the meeting was behind him, and it hadn't caused any complications for or necessitated any major changes to their plan of operation. Always a nice surprise. Even better, it was Friday and he was actually caught up on his paperwork for once. Which meant he could anticipate getting out of here at a reasonable hour ...

And getting into a weekend with Vin.

That prospect alone lifted the tension from his shoulders, smoothed the lines from his face and brought a slow smile to his lips. He could well imagine how they'd spend much of the weekend. With Vin he'd recovered the passion he'd only known with Sarah and discovered sex unlike any he'd ever known with anyone. Tanner could damn near melt his bones, could strip him completely of his control, his reason, and reduce him to pure feeling. And, much to his own amazement, he'd found that he liked that.

But, God, there was so much else to what they shared than just sex. Somehow Vin had the ability to bring order and balance to his chaotic soul, to bring light to his days and peace to his nights and contentment to every moment in between. Tanner had given substance and meaning to his life again, had given him a reason to reclaim that life and make it work. Chris suspected that he was a better man with Vin than he'd been without him.

For damn sure he was a happier one.

Relishing the prospect of the long, quiet hours he'd simply spend sitting with Vin as much as the time they'd spend trying to turn each other inside out, Chris pushed open one of the glass doors and stepped into the bullpen, instinctively counting heads. Josiah and Nathan, predictably, were at their desks, poring diligently over files and making notes. JD was at his desk as well, chattering into the phone cradled between a raised shoulder and angled neck while staring at his computer screen and typing feverishly, one leg jiggling up and down at a frenetic pace. Made Chris's head hurt just to watch him.

"Don't mind him, stud," Buck laughed as he came out of the break room, a mug of coffee in his hand. "He's sailin' on sugar and caffeine. I figure he's got another fifteen minutes before he crashes, then I'll drag him out and fill him with real food."

Chris watched the young agent a few moments longer, then turned away as his eyes started to twitch. Shaking his head to clear it, he cast a glance at the two empty desks nearest his office, then arched an inquiring brow at Buck. "And Laurel and Hardy?" he asked of his missing sharpshooter and undercover agent.

"Aw, hell," Buck snorted, "who knows where Ezra is? Last we heard he was out 'trying to improve his standing with the nefarious Mr. Phelps,' which I figger could mean he's anywhere from some damn fancy restaurant to the French Riviera." He winked at Larabee. "Likely you'll be gettin' all the details on his expense report."

Chris groaned and rolled his eyes at the thought of having to go over yet another of the Southerner's incredibly detailed yet astonishingly vague reimbursement requests. Standish could claim more while explaining less than any agent he'd ever known; the man was fast becoming a legend for it. "And Vin?" he sighed, hoping Tanner had gone with Standish to rein in his excesses.

Buck winced and raised his free hand to rub the back of his neck. "Junior ain't here," he said. "Called in sick this mornin'. Sounded like shit, too. Hell, at first I didn't even-"

"Sick?" Chris rounded on the bigger man and stared at him. "What d'you mean, 'sick'? Sick how?"

Buck shrugged and went to his desk, setting the coffee down and then settling himself into his chair. Chris dropped his briefcase and followed him. "Sick ... sick," he said with another shrug. "Said he had a sore throat ... Sounded like 'sore' was an understatement, though. Runnin' a fever, too. Don't know what else. Nathan kinda tore the phone outta my hand then, an' he talked t' Vin. Or talked at him. Maybe 'barked' at him's the better word-"

"Nathan!" Chris called, turning sharply on his heel only to find the medic already standing behind him. "Well?" he demanded impatiently.

Nathan looked at Chris, then glanced at Buck and looked back to Chris. "Let's go in your office," he suggested. "Buck's kinda squeamish."

"I'm not squeamish!" Wilmington defended himself. "There's just some things I don't like hearin' folks talkin' about! Personal things-"

"Vin's throwin' up?" Chris asked, well familiar with his old friend's weakness in that area.

"Thought y'all were gonna go in your office," Buck sulked, pushing away his coffee cup.

"Jesus!" Chris groaned, turning away and stalking toward his office, retrieving his briefcase on the way. "I'm runnin' a goddamn daycare center here!"

"I can't help it if I'm sensitive!" Buck shouted after him.

Ignoring him, Chris opened the door to his office and stepped inside, flicking on the light and going to his desk. Setting his briefcase on top of it, he sank into his chair and sat back, watching as Jackson sat down across from him. "Okay, tell me," he said quietly.

Nathan shrugged and crossed one long leg over the other at the knee. "This is Vin," he said. "Ain't much ta tell. Got a bad sore throat, so bad he can hardly talk or swallow, and a fever, only we don't know how high 'cause he done lost his thermometer, and he's throwin' up."

Chris frowned worriedly. "He say anything about goin' to a doctor?"

Nathan stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You did hear me say this is Vin, right?"

Larabee exhaled heavily and hung his head. "Right," he said in a low voice. "Shit."

"I asked him if he wanted me ta come over-"

"But this is Vin," Chris murmured. He lifted his head, then let it fall against the back of his chair. "You wanta go with me, or am I goin' alone?"

Nathan thought for several moments, then shook his head. "Think mebbe it'd be best if you went alone," he said quietly. "Vin ain't feelin' good at all, an' you know how he gets. Jus' wants ta hole up, take care of himself-"

"Doesn't wanta be a bother," Chris said with a shrug.

"That's not it," Nathan countered, dark eyes sad. "He ain't used ta folks wantin' ta take care of him, ain't used ta folks carin' about him. And," he paused for a moment, then continued softly, "he don't want folks knowin' he's weak. Makes him vulnerable."

Chris frowned, not understanding. "But he knows we wouldn't-"

"Knows it in his head, yeah," Nathan answered. "Even knows it some in his heart. But, sick as he is, Vin ain't goin' by his head or his heart right now, Chris," he said gently. "He's goin' on his instincts. An' I think we both know why Vin's got the instincts he does."

Chris winced at that and looked away, his heart clenching inside him. Yeah, he knew. Knew that Vin had been hurt too many times by too many people to feel comfortable letting anyone near him when he was vulnerable. Tanner had spent much of his life protecting himself when others should've been doing it for him, and the habits of a lifetime were hard to break.

Nathan watched Chris and knew that he understood, could see the pain from that understanding darkening the man's eyes. And he knew, as perhaps no one else on the team did, why Chris's hurt for Vin ran so deep. Could still see the loving tenderness with which Chris had cradled Vin to him on the bathroom floor when Tanner had been sick once before.

"You're the one he needs, Chris," he said softly, "an' th' only one he'll tolerate. Anybody else'd only have a fight on his hands. That's why I ain't been over there beatin' down his door. He don't need a fight. He jus' needs somebody ta take care of him, get him ta take care of himself."

Chris snorted softly. "Hell, you make it sound like I'll need to let him sniff my hand before I try to touch him! He's not some wild animal-"

Nathan regarded him through kindly, knowing eyes. "No, he ain't," he said gently. "He's jus' a man who's been hurt so many times that he's come t' expect it an' just instinctively guards against it. But," he smiled slightly, "he won't need ta sniff your hand. He already knows he ain't got nothin' in this world t' fear from it."

He knew he should wake up, knew something wasn't quite right and that he needed to give it his attention. Except that he felt so sick and didn't want to wake up anymore than he already had, didn't want to feel any worse than he already did. He gave up, willed into silence that annoying little voice that kept trying to rouse him and drifted back into the sleep his body craved.

Lord, he was so hot!

Then, mercifully, a wondrous coolness slipped through the heavy fog of sleep, heat and hurt enshrouding him and he groaned softly at the blessed feel of it against his burning flesh. It moved slowly over his face, easing the heat blasting behind his eyes, then slid slowly down his throat, soothing even the fire raging there. Another low, soft moan escaped him as that touch of heaven brought sweet relief from the hellish furnace roasting him. Then another touch whispered over him, feather-light kisses fell like gentle rain against his throbbing temples and aching eyes, and he knew at once which angel had brought this bliss to him.

"Yeah, partner, it's me," a low, warm voice murmured as long, strong fingers cradled his face with loving tenderness. "You with me here?"

He sighed again and forced open leaden eyelids, gazing blearily up into the face only inches from his own and smiling tiredly into worried green eyes. "Ain't no place I'd rather be," he breathed.

Chris winced at the painful, ragged rasp and laid a finger softly against Vin's mouth. "Don't think you should talk right now," he urged. "Sounds like it hurts too much."

"Yeah," Vin whispered. Even so, his smile lingered and he reached for Chris's hand, winding his hot fingers around Larabee's and cradling them to his chest. "Hoped you'd come," he croaked.

Chris arched a golden brow and sat up. "You hoped?" he asked pointedly. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Vin swallowed, and the pain of it wiped away his smile. "Knew you's busy," he said. "All them meetin's fer the case-"

"Meetings are done," Chris told him, gently stroking the hair back from Tanner's pale face. "And I'll always come to you, Vin. Hell itself won't keep me away."

Comforted by the love in Chris's words and his touch, he closed his eyes and tightened his hand around Larabee's, then groaned softly as he swallowed again. Lord, his throat was so dry!

"Here," Chris said, freeing his hand from Vin's and reaching with it for the bottle of water on the night stand. "Drink some of this. It's just outta the fridge. Should feel better against your throat than the one you've had sittin' here."

Vin sat up slowly, then groaned sickly and slumped forward as pain, dizziness and nausea assailed him. Immediately, though, a strong arm closed about him and pulled him against a broad, hard chest, then a hand reached up and gently pushed his head to rest against one wide shoulder.

"Ssh, it's all right," Chris murmured. Setting the unopened bottle back on the night stand, he stroked Vin's hair with one hand and rubbed slow circles in his back with the other, easily able to feel the heat of his fever through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. "I'm here now and I'm gonna take care of ya."

"Feel like shit," Vin whispered, nestling his face into the junction of Larabee's neck and shoulder. "Hated callin' in sick, but I jist-"

"You did the right thing," Chris assured him. "You don't have any business even thinkin' about work right now."

"But the case-"

"Isn't goin' anywhere today," Chris interrupted firmly, resting a cheek against Vin's head. "We got the final okay for the plan, but even if you were well we wouldn't be able to move on anything until Monday. Ezra's out doin' whatever it is that Ezra does when he's settin' up a mark, Nathan and Josiah are wadin' their way through the files, Buck's making a last sweep of his contacts, and JD's ... well," he chuckled quietly, "JD's bouncin' off the walls. The ladies in research made a bakery run."

"Aw, hell," Vin croaked, raising his heavy, aching head from Chris's shoulder and gazing strickenly at the man, "I missed it!"

Chris winked and grinned. "No, you didn't. I stopped by there on my way out. Jan and Sam had stashed some goodies back for you when they heard you were sick and they sent 'em with me. And Jan said that new pastry chef - Rick, is it? - had put extra powdered sugar on 'em just for you." A blond brow lifted and the corners of his mouth pulled down in a small, tight frown. "Somethin' about him likin' the way you lick it off your fingers?"

"Aw, hell!" Vin rasped, bowing his head as a hot blush rose in his cheeks. "He don't mean nothin' by it. He's new in town, an' I been tellin' him some a' the nicer places t' go. He's jist ... bein' nice."

"Hm," Chris grunted, instinctively tightening his arm about Tanner. "He'd better not be too nice."

From anyone else, that possessive hold would've evoked an immediate, instinctive fight from Vin. From Chris, though, it brought forth only a soft sigh and the contentment of knowing that this man loved him as no other ever had or ever could. "Ain't gotta worry none," he breathed happily, settling his head back onto Larabee's shoulder and snuggling more deeply into the man's arms. "He likes t' flirt some, but I done told him I'm with somebody." He wound an arm about Larabee's waist. "Rick's real nice an' all, but he ain't you."

Chris smiled softly, the brief twinge of jealousy gone, and tenderly kissed Vin's head. "Well," he said huskily, "I guess I can't fault him for his taste."

"Oh, he's got a good eye, all right," Vin said, running a forefinger down Larabee's broad chest. "I've seen him watchin' you when you walk outta there." He felt Chris sit up straighter, felt the broad shoulders lift and, pulling away slightly, gave a soft snort at the cocky grin spreading over his lover's face. "Yer a smug sonuvabitch." Mischief flared in him and he goosed Larabee in the waist. "Though y' might wanta stay away from that bakery if y' want folks ta keep admirin' yer rear view."

Chris frowned and looked quickly down at himself, then turned his gaze back to Tanner and narrowed his eyes. "You tryin' to say somethin' about my weight?" he growled, fully aware that, unlike the Texan, he wasn't blessed with the metabolism of a hummingbird and couldn't eat whatever didn't eat him first.

Vin laughed softly, the sound made even throatier than usual by his illness. He slid a hand over Larabee's tight, flat stomach, then over to one lean hip. "Ain't nothin' wrong with you an' you know it," he chuckled. "Hell, if you was any finer I'd have t' go 'round armed t' the teeth an' wouldn't get no sleep at all."

"You do go around armed to the teeth," Chris reminded him. "And as for sleepin'," he sighed and shook his head slowly, troubled by the sight of his lover's pallid face, "I'd say that's exactly what you need." He cradled a hand to Vin's cheek and winced at the intensity of the fever burning there. "Right after we check a few things. Nathan wants me to call him, let him know what's what."

Vin opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when he saw the determined glint in the green eyes. He knew argument would be useless and nodded his acquiescence.

Chris smiled softly at that and lightly stroked Vin's cheek. "You know I'm only lookin' out for ya, right?"

Vin closed his eyes and nestled his cheek into that loving hand. "I know," he breathed hoarsely. "Reckon I jist still ain't real used to it. Ain't ever had its like before."

Chris leaned forward and pressed tender kisses to each of Tanner's hot eyelids. "Better get used to it," he ordered gently. "You're gonna have it for a good long while."

"Sounds like a plan ta me," Vin sighed contentedly.

Chris kissed him again. Vin was resting heavily against him, and the lassitude of that hot, slender body worried him. "How 'bout we lay you down? I need ta take your temperature-"

"Ain't got a the'mom'ter-"

"Oh, don't worry about that." He eased Tanner carefully back down onto the bed, against the pillow, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small plastic case. "I come bearing medical supplies." He winked. "Nathan's got a drawer full of these things."

"Ain't that a surprise," Vin snorted.

Ignoring him, Chris pulled open the case and shook the digital thermometer into his hand. He pressed the small green button at its base, listened for the beep, then arched a brow. "Assume the position."

"Asshole," Vin growled, narrowing his eyes.

Larabee's other brow lifted. "You don't behave," he warned, waving the thermometer meaningfully, "that can be arranged."

Vin knew when he was beaten and meekly opened his mouth. Chris slipped the thermometer under his tongue and he closed his lips about it.

While the instrument beeped brightly as the numbers in the small display window climbed, Chris leaned forward and pressed his hands to Vin's throat at either side of his Adam's apple. He palpated gently, moving his fingers back and up, and winced at the swollen hardness of the glands there.

Damn, that couldn't be good.

The thermometer chirped out a repeated signal of triple beeps and he withdrew it from Vin's mouth, exhaling slowly at the reading. 103.3. That definitely wasn't good. He pressed the button to turn it off and set it on the night stand, then reached past it for the penlight he'd set there when he'd brought in the cold water. Another gift from Nathan. He flicked it on and turned back to Vin. "Open up."

Vin did without a protest and extended his tongue. Chris directed the light to the back of his throat and swore softly. Fiery red tonsils enormously swollen and coated in a distinct - and distinctly unsightly - yellowish film. He swore again, flicked off the light and hung his head with a sigh, having seen these same sights and symptoms in Adam too many times to mistake their meaning.

Damn, Vin was not gonna be happy about this.

"Chris?" Tanner whispered, not liking at all his lover's posture or expression.

Larabee sighed again, tossed the penlight onto the stand and looked at Vin. Giving the younger man his most reassuring - and, he hoped, most disarming - smile, he said, "I know. How 'bout if we let Nathan spend his afternoon and evening with Rain and just take you to a doctor instead?"

"Strep throat?" Vin squeaked at the doctor sitting on the stool before the examination bed. "How the hell can I have strep throat in the summer? 'Sides, ain't that fer kids?"

Dr. John Payne stared at his patient in surprise, the outburst constituting the longest string of words the young man had put together since the examination had begun. So far, when more than a one-word answer to a question had been required, the tall, imposing blond leaning against the wall had supplied it, and sometimes after no more than an exchange of glances with Mr. Tanner. The man also gave the doctor the rather unsettling impression that he was being watched for any mishandling of his patient. And watched closely.

But he recovered quickly and smiled slightly at his outraged patient. "Anyone can get strep throat," he said placatingly, "not just children. As for how you got it," he shrugged, "there's no telling. Granted, it's more common in winter, but that's generally because people are closed up together more and there's greater opportunity for transmission of the bacteria. But the season doesn't matter. You can get it anytime."

"Especially him," Chris cracked, winning a glare from Vin. Ignoring him, Chris slanted a wry smile at the doctor. "Trust me, if there's just one germ out there lookin' for a home, it's gonna find Tanner."

The doctor fought back a smile at that. The blond had said he was Tanner's boss, yet, despite his barbed teasing, Payne detected a fondness and concern for the other man that went well beyond a supervisor-subordinate relationship. Certainly he knew more about Tanner's medical history than a mere "boss" would ...

Pushing aside such thoughts, he lifted his clipboard and scrawled his signature on various forms. "Well, other than a nasty case of strep throat, Mr. Tanner, you're fine. I'm giving you a prescription for amoxicillin. Take ibuprofin for pain and fever, drink plenty of fluids and get some rest." He looked at the blond. "He should be able to return to work Monday. However, he'll be contagious for about 48 hours after he starts the antibiotic, so contact with others should be kept to a minimum during that period." He looked back to Vin. "Any questions?" The young man shook his head, and he smiled and rose to his feet. "All right, the nurse'll be here in a few minutes with instructions and discharge papers. Just go home, rest, take your medicine. And," he frowned slightly, "you might consider getting a regular doctor." He arched a brow. "I noticed on your admission sheet that you listed Dr. Elizabeth Stone as your physician?"

Vin shrugged. "So?"

"Well," Payne cleared his throat and frowned slightly, "it's just that most people don't list a trauma surgeon as their primary physician."

Chris chuckled. "You don't know Vin. Believe me, it makes sense."

The doctor stared at his patient a moment longer, received an innocent look in return, and gave up. "O-kay." He gave a quick, almost pained smile. "The nurse will be right in." He nodded once, then turned and left the small room.

"I ain't sure I like him," Vin grumbled when he'd disappeared.

Chris heaved a patient sigh. "You don't like anybody in a lab coat who tells you to take medicine."

Vin looked up at him. "You gonna drop me off at home?"

Chris frowned. "I'm not droppin' you anywhere. I'll take you either back to your apartment or to the ranch, whichever you want, but I'm stayin' with you."

"Doc said I'm contagious." He gazed steadily at Chris, tried to look stronger than he felt. "We got a big case comin' up an' we're all gonna need t' be at our best. Ain't no sense in you riskin' gittin' sick now. I'll be all right. I can take care of m'self. 'Sides," he dropped his gaze and gave a small shrug, "ain't like we're gonna be able ta do anything. Ain't no sense in you puttin' yerself out an' ruinin' yer weekend if y' ain't gonna git anything out of it."

"Whoa, hang on a minute!" Chris said sharply, startled out of his comfortable lean and jerked upright by those soft words. He stepped closer to the bed and stared in confusion at Vin, frowning deeply. "Whatta you mean, if I don't get anything out of it? You think I'm only doin' this because I expected to get some sex outta the deal? Payment for services rendered?"

"No!" Vin answered harshly, shooting a stunned gaze at his lover. "Hell, I know y'ain't like that! I know ya don't think of me like that ... Aw, shit!" he groaned, bowing his head and dropping it into his hands. "I cain't even think straight! But that ain't what I meant!"

Chris exhaled slowly and released his anger, then moved closer still to Vin. Reaching out, he gently pried Tanner's hands away from his face, then slipped a hand under his chin and lifted the bowed head until their eyes met. "Then what did you mean?" he asked softly, tenderly stroking Vin's cheek with his other hand.

Vin closed his eyes and turned his face more fully into that caressing hand, allowing this man's touch to steady and strengthen him. "I jist meant," he said hoarsely, ignoring the fire raging in his throat to make this right, "that we had plans, only now I ain't gonna be up t' any of 'em. An' that if all you had t' look forward to was nursemaidin' me, mebbe you'd rather do somethin' else an' I'd understand, 'cause pushin' pills down me an' makin' sure I eat, drink an' sleep cain't be jist a whole lotta fun. There's gotta be somethin' else you'd rather be doin'."

Chris leaned forward and tenderly kissed Vin's hot forehead. "Can't think of anything," he breathed. "You're sick, you need me, you got me. May not always be fun, but it's always gonna be true. I'm not in this to get anything out of it, Tanner," he breathed, nuzzling through Vin's hair to kiss his temple. "I'm in it because there's nowhere on this earth I'd rather be."

Vin leaned into Chris, instinctively seeking shelter in the man. "Damn, cowboy," he whispered, "you do beat all I've ever seen! I'm jist sorry t' be all this trouble."

"Trust me," Chris said, pressing another kiss to his temple, "you're worth it."

Vin sighed, but before he could say anything footsteps stopped outside the door and the handle turned. He and Chris pulled apart just as the door opened and admitted the nurse who'd led them back here and taken his vitals earlier. As she walked toward him, Chris took a step back, but not so far that Vin couldn't feel his solid presence.

The nurse stopped a few paces from the exam bed and studied him through compassionate eyes, taking in his ashen pallor, exhausted slouch and glassy eyes. "I'll bet you're ready to get out of here and get some rest, aren't you?" she asked in a warm voice.

He swallowed painfully and nodded once. "Reckon so. Ain't feelin' too good right now."

"No, I imagine not," she said sympathetically. "We'll get through the discharge, and then you can go." She stepped closer to the bed and held out the clipboard for him to see. "You have a prescription for amoxicillin, two capsules a day for ten days. Be sure and finish the entire amount or you'll be back here with an even tougher case. Here's an information sheet about strep throat, what you can expect and complications to look for. If you experience any complications, get to an emergency room. And here," she flipped to a third sheet, "are some care instructions. Take ibuprofin for the pain and fever, rest, drink plenty of fluids. Also, we recommend gargling every few hours with a salt-water solution, one teaspoon of salt to eight ounces of warm water. It'll keep your throat moist, which will help with the pain. A humidifier, if you have one, is also good for that. If you don't have one, a hot shower will work nicely. You also need to eat, though soft foods and soups will probably be easier on your throat right now. And," she winked, "ice cream might help with the pain, too."

He gave a small, crooked smile and bobbed his head in a nod. "Yes, ma'am," he said shyly, "I reckon it might."

She gave a soft sigh at that smile and the way it crinkled the corners of his blue, blue eyes, was captivated by his sweetly old-fashioned manners. But a glance up at the handsome blond hovering protectively behind him, and the undisguised tenderness softening that man's face and vivid green eyes, assured her that any effort beyond mere appreciation would be useless.

Damn, it really was true about the best-lookin' ones ...

"All right," she said, her smile returning, "if you'll just sign here," she indicated the spot with a finger, "we'll let you get out of here and back home to rest."

She handed him the pen and clipboard and he took them tentatively, swallowing uneasily at the prospect of having to write anything, even his name, when he could barely think. But a firm hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, and he tightened his hold on the pen. Chewing on his lower lip, and feeling the hot flush rising in his cheeks, he slowly scratched out an illegible version of his name, concentrating so hard that he missed the exchange between Chris and the nurse over his bowed head.

She saw his difficulty, noticed that a number of letters were backward or out of order, and looked up at the overtly protective blond, saying nothing but arching an inquisitive brow. Chris silently mouthed the word "dyslexia," and she nodded in comprehension.

Vin finished with a relieved sigh and handed her the pen and clipboard, not meeting her gaze. This was another reason he balked so at going to doctors, and one he knew his teammates could never really understand. But they didn't have to deal with slogging through forms and instructions they couldn't read, then complete their humiliation by revealing to perfect strangers that they wrote no better than a six-year-old. He could feel his shame burning in his cheeks.

But a gentle hand cupped his cheek and, startled by that touch, he lifted his head, his eyes widening and his shame receding when he saw her soft smile of understanding. He didn't know what to do, what to say, so he merely sat up a little straighter and returned her smile with a faint one of his own.

Her own smile widened and brightened at that. "I hope you get to feeling better soon, Vin," she said. She withdrew her hand and took the prescription, information sheet and care instructions from the clipboard, handing them to him. "Now, go home and rest. And," she winked again, "remember the ice cream. It's Nurse Ruby's home remedy for sore throats and bad days." Again that small, shy smile broke forth, and her heart fluttered in her breast. "Take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Oh," Chris took Vin's arm and helped him down from the table, then casually slipped an arm around his waist to steady him as he reeled dizzily on his feet, "I'll make sure he does."

She lifted her gaze to him and arched a dark red brow, a mischievous, knowing grin tugging at her lips. "You know, I'll just bet you will."