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Owen winced when he heard the bathroom door slam, and the subsequent sound of Mateo retching for the third time that morning. Despite an enormous amount of sympathy for his young roommate, Owen couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t been rudely yanked from sleep once again. His head was pounding, his sinuses were plugged, his throat swollen, and his lungs ached with every breath. His stomach was churning too, and he prayed laying still would keep him from joining Mateo and losing the entire contents of his stomach into the toilet. Owen pressed a hand to his eyes wishing to go back to sleep until he could wake up feeling like himself again, but that was not going to be his fate.

“Captain!” Mateo called hoarsely from the hall, “cap, are you awake? I’m not going to make it to work. I’m dying!”

Owen would have sighed, but that would just provoke another coughing fit, so he rolled to his side, blindly searching the floor for his slippers. He was drenched in cold sweat and he shivered, yanking a blanket from the bed to wrap around his shoulders. If it were TK in the bathroom, miserable, he would be getting up, he reminded himself; he could do it for Mateo too.

“I’m coming,” he muttered loudly, adding, “you’re not dying. You just feel like crap.” Then under his breath, “we all do.”

The shift from sitting to standing nearly overwhelmed Owen, but he swallowed back the wave of nausea and powered through. Tea. That’s what they needed. Somehow he would get himself and Mateo to the kitchen, they would drink tea, chase it with unadvisable amounts of Nyquil, then head back to bed.

Owen found his roommate in worse shape than he’d hoped, slumped on the floor, face buried in his knees, looking forlorn. Owen felt depleted. The walk to the kitchen seemed insurmountable, even if he weren’t dragging the younger firefighter with him, but he was the captain, so he reached for Mateo’s arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Oh, don’t,” Mateo moaned, even as he allowed himself to be led toward the stairs, “leave me to die, cap. Save yourself. If you can.”

Owen rolled his eyes, steadying Mateo before heading down the stairs. “I told you, you aren’t dying,” he stressed again, sweet release though it may be. He guided Mateo to a chair at the counter, then quickly yanked the blind over the sink closed.

“Well, I want to,” Mateo argued, hiding his head in his folded arms. “I never get sick!”

Owen nodded at that. Neither did he. Damn this flu. Filling the kettle and setting it to boil, he rifled through his tea supply looking for something that would bolster their immune systems and soothe their throats. He moved slowly to limit the vertigo that came with being stuffed up, and unable to take a deep breath. It was grossly unfair that he had just recovered from a fungal infection only to be plunged into this new circle of hell, and briefly he wondered what he had done to anger the Gods, or upset the balance of the universe.

“Do you think everyone else is doing ok?” Mateo inquired in a muffled tone, because it appeared he was too weak to lift his head.

Owen poured the boiling water into the mugs, greedily inhaling the steam. It gave him an idea.

“I sure hope so,” Owen told the other man, nudging him as he set down the hot tea in front of him. “Drink your tea. We can check in with the others later.” He thought of TK who would be a whiney mess and wasn’t sure he envied Carlos. “As far as I know Marjan and Paul are still standing, covering for all of us at the station. Drink your tea.”

Mateo dragged his head up, and wrapped his hands around the mug, scrunching up his nose. “Lucky them. What is in this? It smells gross, cap.”

“Just drink it.” Owen scolded, in no mood to debate. “After that, steam shower and copious amounts of cold medicine.”

“I’m dying!” TK asserted, for the fifth time since he woke up, sweaty, nauseous, and horribly congested.

“You’re not, you just feel like it.” Carlos told him sympathetically, pulling the blankets up and patting TK’s hip.

“Don’t!” TK objected, shoving at both the blankets, and Carlos’ comforting hand. “Everything hurts! My head, my throat, even my skin! And I’m so hot! Don’t touch me, just go away.”

Carlos wasn’t too insulted since last night’s refrain was the opposite, begging for extra blankets, and to be held, all while Carlos fervently hoped to avoid catching whatever TK was suffering from.

“Oh, poor baby,” Carlos cooed, “I won’t touch you then, but I am getting the thermometer, and we are calling Tommy for advice if it’s high.” Given the heat radiating off his boyfriend, Carlos could already guess just how high it would be.

“Call my dad!” TK moaned, mashing his face into his pillow, frustrated. “I need him.”

Carlos thought it was cute that TK wanted his daddy, still, at this age, but it also renewed his envy of their close bond. He wouldn’t likely call his dad to comfort him, and if he did the weathered Ranger was likely to tell him to ‘man-up’.

“Sorry, babe. Your dad is sick too. Remember? He called last night?”

TK whined something unintelligible into the pillow, kicking his feet to rid himself of the last of the sheets that clung to his legs.

“I just want to get your temp, then you could have a shower, huh? Some nice steam to unclog your nose? Something for your headache, too.” Carlos suggested, climbing to his feet, and heading for the door. “I can make some tea too. Just like your dad would. That should help with your throat.”

“Wait!” TK suddenly struggled dramatically to sit up. “Don’t go!” He reached out a hand, then flopped back onto the pillows, exhausted by the effort.

Carlos paused with his hand on the door. “TK, I’m only going to the bathroom. I will be right back. Besides, you just told me to go.”

TK was the picture of misery, face contorted in discomfort. “I didn’t mean it,” he pouted. “Why can’t my dad come? We are both already sick. We can’t make each other sicker.”

Making his way back to the bed, Carlos sat and brushed a hand through TK’s sweat-dampened hair, eyes narrowing in concern. TK was really hot.

“Because, he isn’t up to it, babe. He was just recovering from that fungal infection when he got hit with this.” Carlos reminded gently, not wanting to cause TK needless worry. “Plus, Mateo would be alone, and he’s sick too. You have me, and I’m going to take great care of you. We can eat soup and catch up on your watchlist.”

TK didn’t answer, but he closed his eyes and didn’t object either. Carlos stayed, petting his hair, and rubbing his arm until he seemed to fall into a restless sort of slumber, then he decided he would call Tommy. He could use some advice.

Grace loved her husband dearly, but between his broken leg, and now the flu, he was proving to be insufferable. Being out of work when most of the crew got hit with this God-awful virus should have been a bonus, but Judd had spent so much time gaming with Mateo, hosting Owen for drinks, and dropping by the station to help with paperwork, that he managed to get sick too; and now he was in denial about just how sick he was.

“You have to stay in bed,” Grace advised, gently prodding Judd back against the pillows propped behind him. “We might avoid Charlie getting sick this way, and you are in no shape to be up and about.”

Judd shook his head stubbornly, clearly looped on Nyquil and not thinking straight. “I can help you out, Grace. I’m all good. I took some cold medicine. Just find me my crutches.”

There was no way Grace was going to do that, since it was her who had hidden the crutches in the closet in the first place. She dared to kiss his forehead even though she would dearly love to avoid his germs.

“No sir, you are staying right there, like I just told you to do,” she warned, straightening the covers over his legs, and offering him a cool glass of water from the nightstand. “How much cold medicine did you actually take?” She questioned, glancing at the near empty bottle by the bed.

“Don’t know,” he slurred, “but I don’t feel any better, baby. I just survived a building collapse and now the flu is going to kill me,” he moaned, letting his head flop backwards, as if it was too heavy to hold up. Yeah, getting up to help my ass, Grace thought.

Abruptly her husband sat straight again and grabbed her wrist. “We have a will, right? Just in case.”

Grace snorted, barely containing a laugh. This man ran into burning buildings and attracted danger as a rule, but he was worried the flu was going to be what killed him. She shook her head. Definitely too much Nyquil.

“We do, sir.” She promised, squeezing his shoulder, “now you lie back and try to relax. I’ll bring in the laptop so you have something to watch, and I’ll make some soup for later. Right now, you try to sleep, ok?”

Judd did reluctantly settle, sniffling and coughing. Grace winced at the painful sound, feeling genuinely sorry for her spouse.

“I think we have some vapor rub. I’ll bring that too.” She promised, backing out of the room, “I just have to see to Charlie and I’ll be back, hon.”

Grace glanced at her watch, and decided she better call into work. She was going to be needed at home it seemed. Vaguely, she wondered how the others were doing, and if Tommy had been caught up in this or if she might like to baby sit…either one of her babies.

“I can’t!”

TK’s nasally whine was admittedly getting on Carlos’ nerves by early afternoon, and he was already googling how long the flu was likely to last. At this rate, neither of them was going to pull through.

“TK, babe, you can. Just blow. Then you can use the nasal spray.” Carlos was holding several tissues up to his partner’s nose, not keen on being covered in snot. “Come on, try.” He coaxed, feeling like he was reasoning with a toddler.

“I told you I can’t!” TK snapped, going from whiney to grouchy in a flash. He turned his head away, and Carlos counted slowly to ten in his head, trying not to snap back. They were both tired. It wouldn’t do for anyone to lose their temper.

“Quit,” Carlos ordered, taking both of TK’s hot hands in his. “Look at me,” he implored, waiting patiently for TK to turn his head back. His eyes were red rimmed, and narrowed against the light, and Carlos knew he was deep in this, and feeling it. He really needed him to listen though. “Good. Now, just blow, please.”

TK did as he was told, and Carlos offered the nasal spray that Tommy had recommended. Just saline, but hopefully she was coming soon to bring something medicated. TK had already choked down some Tylenol, complaining mercilessly about his sore throat, and next Carlos hoped to manhandle him into a shower. His temperature was high, according to their ear thermometer, and his cough was chesty. In short, he sounded terrible, he was also achy, fatigued, and downright ornery, so Carlos hauled him up by his armpits, steering him forcibly to the bathroom.

“I don’t want to get up,” TK practically wailed, reaching desperately for the blankets that he had rejected earlier.

“Uh-huh,” Carlos acknowledged, “I’m aware, but you know it will help loosen up all that phlegm, and bring your fever down,” he listed, while he guided the weakly protesting man into the bathroom. “Might even make your throat feel better,” he added, turning on the taps and adjusting the temperature.

TK shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, forehead creased with irritation. “Can’t I just go back to bed?”

Carlos glanced over his shoulder. “Sure, after you shower. And you eat some soup.”

“Can’t.” TK insisted. “I’ll throw up. I feel gross.”

“I’m sorry. You have to try a little something at least. It’s my mom’s recipe and I loved it when I was a kid.” Carlos turned to face TK, frowning. “Are you going to get undressed?”

TK shook his head. “Too cold.” He shuddered again, but Carlos thought the steam was already doing it’s job. TK sounded a bit less raspy. “Too tired.”

Carlos smiled softly, stepping close to his petulant partner, and gripping the hem of his undershirt. “Aw, poor baby, come here,” he jostled TK until he lifted his arms. Under different circumstances Carlos would very much enjoy slowly stripping his lover, but right now he was just glad to be of service. He lifted the shirt off, tossing it toward the hamper, then leaned down to tug TK’s sweat pants down, urging him to step out. “Now be careful, TK. I don’t want you falling over.” Carlos cautioned, keeping hold of TK’s hand as he stepped into the warm shower spray.

“After this you’ll call my dad?” TK’s plaintive whisper made Carlos sigh for the millionth time. “Maybe he feels better by now.”

Carlos doubted that, but he only nodded. “Sure I’ll call him.”

Another call from Carlos made Owen feel guilty for being unavailable to his son, but he was determined to do his best for Mateo, who was currently curled up beside him on the couch, sweating and shivering at the same time.

“Are you watching this anymore?” Owen waved a hand at the Marvel movie playing on TV, garnering a shrug from his young roommate. Without Mateo’s commentary Owen is lost, and the movie was making no sense at all, but when he lifted the remote to shut it off, Mateo grabbed at his wrist.

“Don’t!” He cried, setting off a coughing fit that made Owen wince along with him. “I-“ Mateo has to clear his throat several times to get more words out, “I like TV when I’m sick. It’s-I don’t know-comforting, I guess. Always has been.”

That made Owen wonder. “Who took care of you, Mateo? When you were younger? Did you have someone to bring you medicine, and put you to bed?”

Another shrug, and Owen had to wrap a firm arm around Mateo’s shoulders to keep him from shrinking away to the other side of the couch. “Tell me about it,” Owen urged, realizing he knew remarkably little about Mateo’s early years.

Mateo squirmed, a half-hearted escape attempt, but Owen wasn’t budging. He bet Mateo could be every bit as cuddly as TK under the right circumstances, and if TK were here, Owen would be cuddling him.

“I don’t get sick.” Mateo insisted, just like he had earlier, but he stopped trying to wriggle away. “Hardly ever anyway. And when I did I still had my cousins to look after.”

Owen frowned at that. “Your mom left to look after your cousins when you weren’t feeling well?” He tried not to sound like he was judging. He didn’t know these people, but he didn’t think much of a sick kid being left to babysit.

“My mom had to work a lot,” Mateo defended, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. Owen handed him a tissue from the box in his lap. “She-and my aunts-had no choice. We were fine, us kids. We did ok.”

Owen hummed, relaxing further into the couch cushions, and encouraging Mateo to do the same. “So when you did get sick, there was no one to make you take your medicine? Or get you soup? Or hold you and rub your back?” All things he would do for TK. He fondly remembered lifting his exhausted and crying son from his bed, wrapping him in a blanket, and rocking him all night.

Mateo swallowed hard, reluctantly resting his head on Owen’s shoulder. “Not really.” He admitted. “I mean, they cared, but money was tight. My mom couldn’t afford a lot of days off.”

On a whim, Owen tugged Mateo closer and kissed the top of his head. “Well, now you have me, and you are never too old to be taken care of. Ask TK. He is driving Carlos nuts right now.”

Shaking his head Mateo stared sadly ahead, playing with the fringe on the afghan draped around his shoulders. “You should be with him. I’m really ok, cap.”

That was all it took to break Owen’s heart. “Nope. TK has Carlos, and you have me. And I like to be needed, so you’re doing me a favor kid,” Owen stroked Mateo’s sweaty hair away from his face, smiling gently. “Now, if you have the energy, you can try to make me understand what is going on in this movie…seriously, are they in outer space now?”

With Mateo snuggled close, and breathing a little easier, Owen was happy to know he was doing some good for someone, even if he was away from his son, away from work, at home, sick as a dog himself.

Grace was a God-fearing woman, blessed with near infinite amounts of patience, but by evening she had used up all of her good will. Judd was impossible, alternating between vows to get up and help her with Charlie, and mournful moaning about not making it through another night. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she consulted the clock, willing the hands to move faster, because Tommy promised to come over after her shift.

“Grace?” Judd called from the bedroom, at the same time Charlie began to stir in her swing. “Grace, I need water! And more Nyquil. Please. It isn’t working! Grace!”

Thinking fast Grace decided to deal with her biggest baby first, filling a glass with water and stopping in the bathroom to grab more Nyquil. Judd was already halfway to his feet by the time Grace made it to the bedroom, nudging her away when she tried to help.

“I got it, Grace,” he grouched, leaning on one crutch to maneuver around her, “I just need to make it to the bathroom, and you took forever to get here.”

Suppressing an eye roll, Grace stuck close to her husband despite his complaints. He wasn’t looking at all steady on his feet and the last thing they needed was for him to reinjure himself. Again.

“Seconds, Judd,” she chided gently, “it took me seconds. I came as soon as you called.”

Judd grunted a response that she didn’t quite catch as he hobbled down the hall, and fumbled with the bathroom door. Shaking her head she reached out to open it, then pull it shut after him.

“Can I be of assistance in there?” She called through the door, knowing what the answer would be.

“I’m just fine, Grace!” He grumbled, pausing to let a coughing fit pass. “You can go.”

Scrubbing a tired hand over her face, Grace wondered, not for the first time, how much nurturing Judd had missed out on growing up without a mama. The thoughts were accompanied by a pang of guilt, and she resolved not to be pushed away.

“Judson Ryder, you are not going to dismiss me that way,” she warned, waiting until she heard the sink running to open the door. “Now, let’s get you back to bed, and I’ll park myself in that rocking chair right over there, where I can feed our daughter, and keep an eye on you.”

Firmly, she gripped Judd’s elbow, steering him back to bed and arranging the covers while he objected.

“You don’t have to Grace. Seriously. I’m all good here.”

Grace snorted because Judd was begging for attention in every other way but with words. Perching on the side of the bed, she let him slump into her, and dutifully rubbed his back. She was a bit worried about the warmth there, but she didn’t voice her concerns. Instead she opted to let him be a big kid and soak up some of the lovin’ she was worried he missed as a real little boy.

“Tell you what? I’m going to get you some clean pj’s, then I’m going to sponge bath you right here in bed, before I change the sheets and tuck you back in,” she used one finger to boop him on the nose when she saw the beginnings of a wicked grin. “Ah! It’s not going to be nearly as fun as you’re hoping, but it will be me, taking care of you, because I love you more everyday Judson Ryder,” she finished, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth, in spite of the risk. Her husband was worth it. And if she ended up home sick too, well so be it.

Carlos was pretty sure he was more exhausted than TK by the time he sank onto the sofa, allowing his boyfriend to curl up on top of him, still sniffly, but breathing easier since the shower. He had checked in with Owen, and broke the news, once again, to a dejected TK, that his dad wasn’t coming. TK was clearly accustomed to being cared for, spoiled really, but in this case, Carlos wasn’t his first choice. It hurt, but Owen had given Carlos a pep talk; so, ignoring all complaints, he spoon fed soup to an ornery TK, dosed him with Tylenol, and now he was pliant enough to snuggle.

“TV Carlos,” TK prompted, patting at Carlos’ chest weakly.

“Of course,” Carlos agreed, stretching to reach the remote. The movement made him feel nauseous, and his throat was scratchy too. He should have grabbed a drink on his way to sit down. “What are we in the mood for? Drama? Horror? Action?” He pressed the Netflix button and began scrolling through their watchlist. “Your dad and Mateo are watching Marvel movies.”

TK snorted, coughed, then flopped back against Carlos like a wet noddle. “My dad will never understand Marvel. Let’s watch the one with the gay kid, who’s crushing on the soccer kid,” TK suggested with a huge yawn.

Carlos chuckled, clicking on Heartstopper. “Never doubt Mateo’s ability to force Marvel on unsuspecting people,” he cautioned, cradling TK to his chest, and letting his eyes slip closed. He could already feel TK’s breath evening out, and though he still radiated heat, the rasp in his chest was less.

“I miss my dad,” TK muttered, barely awake. “I can remember him holding me all night when I didn’t feel good. Kinda wish he could do that now.”

Carlos sighed, squeezing TK a little tighter. “You have me to hold you now,” he reminded, “we can do this all night.”

“Yeah…” TK slurred, rubbing at his face, feeling the effects of poor sleep. “And this is forever. Don’t have to grow up anymore.”

No, Carlos thought, patting at TK’s back, because God forbid they ever grew apart. As far as he was concerned they could freeze time right now and live the rest of their lives in this moment, minus the flu. Then Carlos thought of something.

“TK, your dad wasn’t just there when you were little and sick right?” Carlos mused, thinking of his recent jealous feelings. “I mean there was Alex, the overdose…he’s always been your person huh?” His desperate need to be TK’s everything, still warred with his rational side that knew it wasn’t realistic, especially when it came to Owen.

Carlos didn’t open his eyes, but he could feel TK nod, and then fingers reached up to brush his cheek lovingly. “Yeah, sure. And now I have two persons, so how lucky am I?”

How lucky were they, Carlos thought, drifting off, holding TK tight.

Owen was jerked out of an uneasy sleep by someone shaking his shoulder, and softly calling his name.

“Cap, Captain Strand, wake up,” Marjan called, barely resisting the urge to snap a pic of Mateo curled up under their bosses arm, peacefully snoring.

“We brought soup,” she whispered when Owen’s eyes finally focused on her. “Paul is heating it up in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind that we let ourselves in.”

Owen carefully extricated himself from his young charge, propping some throw pillows under his head, before struggling to his feet. Rubbing at his face, he realized he felt slightly more normal, if not anywhere near a hundred percent. He followed Marjan to the kitchen, taking his blanket with him.

“How are things at the station?” He asked, sinking into a chair at the table, and gratefully accepting the steaming bowl of soup Paul offered.

“Never the same without you, cap,” Paul told him with a grimace. “No one to fill for you with this flu on the warpath. It’s really something. Tommy says it’s all over the city, and the ER is just scrambling to keep up. We had to join the second shift.”

“Yeah,” Marjan huffed, “and they’re second shift for a reason, let me tell you.”

Owen laughed even though it brought on another coughing fit. “Be nice” he warned, once he caught his breath, “not sure how many days I’ll be out for. In fact,” he said raising his spoon to his lips, “you two shouldn’t be here. You’re right in the danger zone.”

Paul shook his head, setting down bowls of soup for himself and Marjan. “No worries there. This is my mom’s chicken soup recipe. It’s magic. Can’t get sick after you’ve had some.”

Owen raised one eyebrow, and Marjan shot Paul a dubious look. “There’s nothing contraband in here I should know about is there?” She questioned, stirring her bowl with her spoon, “like, before random drug testing gets me in trouble?”

“No, course not,” Paul assured her, “but my mom would make this soup as soon as she caught wind of a cold in the neighborhood, and I swear, I never got a single sick day from school. That’s how good it is.”

Nodding, Marjan went ahead and ate. “Magic or not, tastes amazing,” she complimented, giving Paul a graceful little bow from her seat, before turning to Owen. “Should we wake Mateo?”

“Nah,” he said glancing over his shoulder. “He’s worse off than me. He can use the sleep. I’ll make sure he eats later.”

Marjan tilted her head, smiling. “I’m glad someone is taking of him. He deserves it.”

Owen let his next coughing fit pass, then asked. “How much do you know about his childhood? Sounds like he had to grow up fast.” He knew that Mateo and Marjan were close, and he wondered how much he had confided in her.

“Not a lot,” she shrugged, pointing her spoon at Owen, “but I love the crap out of him, so treat him right, or I’ll be back,” she warned.

“She means it,” Paul joined in with a meaningful look at Owen, “but right now, we have to go and deliver more soup soon,” he said, getting to his feet to wash their bowls and tidy up.

“Glad you two are still on your feet,” Owen commented. “You’re it from what I’ve heard.”

“Yep, Judd is down and out. TK of course. Pretty sure Nancy won’t last until the end of her shift, she was looking rough last we saw her,” Paul listed on his fingers, “Tommy is hanging in, but she’s rushed off her feet. Marjan and I are infallible, so we will keep lending aid where we can,” he half joked, waving to the pot still on the stove. “Lots of soup in there, keep it warm, and make sure Mateo eats.”

Owen nodded and didn’t bother seeing them out before collapsing back on the couch next to his sleeping friend.

One week later and Owen was surveying his office, taking in the stacks of paperwork and reports, gathering dust after his rather lengthy stay at home sick. With a sigh that leaves him hacking into his sleeve, Owen wonders if he came back too soon. He and Mateo hadn’t quite made it through the Marvel universe yet, but Owen had come a long way, and Mateo was itching to introduce him to D.C next. Owen felt an unexpected pang of regret, maybe for the first time in life, at leaving the couch behind to return to work.

Dismissing his thoughts with a sigh, Owen picks a stack, and delves in but he has no sooner opened the first folder when his door swings open.

“Hey, cap,” Mateo greeted, a bit breathless. “Marjan and Paul aren’t coming. Got a text. You probably did too. They’re both sick now.”

“Crap,” Owen muttered, closing the folder he was holding. “Shoot. I’ll call for floaters to replace them. What about Judd? He promised to help with this mountain of paperwork.”

Mateo shook his head. “Judd is staying home with Grace and Charlie. Grace caught the flu too. I’ve been getting the trucks ready, but Tommy and Nancy are also out, just so you know. I picked up the phone downstairs.”

“Wow, ok,” Owen said, checking his cell. “TK isn’t coming either,” he reported, “staying at home with Carlos.”

“Oh, well that’s our ambulance out of service then,” Mateo frowned. “Whose left?”

“Just us,” Owen told him, checking the station’s voicemail. “Bryan’s is out, and our rookie too. Flu got everyone.”

“What do we do then?” Mateo asked, looking almost hopeful. Owen grinned. He’d bet Mateo was thinking about their unfinished movie marathon too.

“Well…” Owen said, standing and grabbing his jacket, “I think we call the 126 out of service, forget my paperwork, go home, and continue watching…um, what was it? The movie with the talking racoon?”

Owen watched Mateo’s face light up and thought, soon enough they would be back to fighting fires, but for now, there was more to life; and that included Marvel movies, hot tea, buckets of ice cream, and an evolving friendship that was doing them both a world of good.