A/N: Here I am again. Like promised, here's a quick story as an interruption of my hiatus. The past two months, I worked on a lot of different projects, and this is one of them. For all the fans of my Lilian/Peter series, I can tell you that there will be a new chapter in the future. I won't be fully continuing the story with regular updates, since I only write new chapters when I have a new idea. But yeah, I decided to not abandon the story, since a lot of you love the series. I also work on different drabbles and one-shots, of which more later.

Jout sat at the common table in the middle of the room, sipping at his cup of tea while silently observing his boyfriend, who sat diagonally across from him and played solitaire. Newkirk had his left arm tightly wrapped around his middle; according to him, it was because he tried to keep himself warm. And indeed, it was incredibly cold. But that was nothing new for a February in Germany. But Jout suspected that there was more to it than Newkirk gave away. The past few days, Newkirk grew paler and seemed worn out, sleeping a lot and not moving around a lot. And every time Jout approached Newkirk, asking him if he was alright, the Brit shrugged and said that he was fine, just tired from all the missions lately. But Jout could not shake the nagging feeling that something else was wrong with his boyfriend.

Jout looked at Newkirk's right hand, which was a bit shaky as he turned a card. "How are you feeling, Peter?"

"M'fine," Newkirk answered without looking up from his cards. "Just like the last ten thousand times ya 'ave asked me."

Jout set his blue mug down on the table. "Sorry that I'm worried about my boyfriend."

Newkirk raised his glance, and Jout caught sight of his greyish-green eyes glazed over, now looking milky green. "Ya don't 'ave to be worried about me. I'm right as rain."

Newkirk went back to playing cards, but felt Jout's stare on him which made him feel uneasy. He never liked being watched by someone else. Newkirk sighed and rose to his feet, eager to show his boyfriend that he was fine.

"Ya want a cup of tea?" Newkirk asked.

"Sure." Jout sipped the last of his tea and placed the mug on the table, near to the stove.

As Newkirk stepped away from the table, a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him, and he reached out to steady himself against his bunkbed. Everything around him faded away, and then the darkness hit him. Newkirk collapsed, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

"Peter!" Jout called out as he jumped up from his stool and rushed to his boyfriend's side.

He rolled Newkirk on his back and put two of his fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse. A sigh of relief left Jout's lips as he found a strong heartbeat, but the heat he felt against his fingers worried him. Therefore, he brushed some of Newkirk's damp strands of hair from his forehead and placed the back of his hand on it to feel his temperature; Newkirk's skin was burning up.

"I'm right as rain, my ass!" Jout hissed under his breath as he looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do. There was no one else in the barracks, but he did not want to leave Newkirk alone when he got help.

As if he had sensed his brother's despair, the door opened and Hogan entered the main room together with the rest of his core team.

When Hogan spotted his brother crouching on the floor next to Newkirk, he rushed to his knees and asked, "What happened, Josh?"

The others gathered around the men, all with concerned expressions on their faces.

"What's with Pierre?" LeBeau asked.

"I think he's sick," Jout said. "He just collapsed when he stood up. I suspected that something was wrong with him for the past days. He is running a fever; his skin is burning up."

"Baker, go get Wilson. Tell him we need his attention ASAP." Hogan looked at Jout and said, "Don't worry, Josh. I'm sure it's just a cold; but let us get him to my room. It's warmer in there."

With united forces and the help of LeBeau and Carter, the two brothers managed to carry Newkirk into the adjoined room, carefully placing him in the lower bunk.

Jout sat down at the edge of the bunk, his fearful eyes directed at the lifeless form of his boyfriend. "Why hasn't he told me anything?" he mumbled. "I asked him multiple times if he was feeling alright. Why has he not said anything?"

Hogan sat down next to Jout, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I don't know, Josh. Only Newkirk can answer that when he is well again."

The door opened and in came Wilson, his medical bag in his right hand and Baker in tow. Hogan rose to his feet while Wilson stepped closer, saying, "I heard we have a case of sickness."

Hogan tilted his head to the bunk. "It's Newkirk, Joe. He fainted; seems like he has a fever."

Wilson nodded and put his bag down next to the bunkbed. He sat down at the edge and took a thermometer from his black medical bag. "Could you take off his jacket and shirt?" he asked Jout, who had not moved a bit since the medic's arrival.

Jout nodded and began to take off Newkirk's blue RAF jacket. All the while, he was being watched by Wilson, who noticed the worried expression on his face and the tenderness with which he undressed the Brit. For everyone else this might seem strange, but not for Wilson. He knew about the relationship of the two men; he was the only one outside barracks 2. Though no one told him personally about it, the affection between them the last time one of them fell sick was evidence enough for Wilson. And he was happy for them; that they were two men did not bother Wilson at all. As long as they were happy, who was he to say something against their relationship? Love was the mean to end the hatred in the world, and so Wilson would encourage love wherever he found it.

He checked Newkirk's temperature; and the result confirmed Hogan's suspicion. "He has indeed a fever, Colonel," Wilson said as he cleaned the thermometer, putting it back in his bag. "I think he caught the flu that's going around the camp. He should feel better in a few days. Until then, LeBeau should prepare a broth that you give him whenever he is awake and make sure he is dressed in warm clothes; the icy temperatures are the worst enemy for curing a flu."

LeBeau, who stood close to the door, said, "Qui, Wilson. I will prepare my grandmother's chicken broth; this has cured every flu in our family." He turned around and left for the common room, getting to work on the remedy.

Wilson grabbed his bag and rose to his feet. "Call me when he wakes up." When he caught sight of the fearful expression on Jout's face, he assured in a soft voice, "Don't worry, Lieutenant. He will be fine in a few days; just make sure he rests enough."

Jout averted his gaze from Newkirk's face and looked up at the medic, a soft smile flicking across his features. "I will do that. Thank you for your help, Sergeant Wilson."

"Hey, nothing to thank me for," Wilson said as he walked to the door. "It's my job to look after the sick.

Later in the afternoon…

While the rest of the barracks spent the afternoon outside, enjoying the snow and engaging in every kind of snow-related activity, Jout sat next to Newkirk's temporary bunk in Hogan's room as he watched over his sick boyfriend. Newkirk had not yet woken up, and it was slightly worrying Jout. But he reminded himself that everything was alright; Newkirk was only having a flu, and not admitting it only weakened his body more. Therefore, it needed the rest. Knowing how stubborn his boyfriend was when it came to staying in bed to rest, Jout actually was glad that Newkirk slept so long, giving his body the much needed rest.

Jout was looking out the window, watching how some prisoners strolled through the back of the camp, when he heard a groan coming from the bunk. He turned his head and saw how Newkirk's eyes fluttered and how he stirred.

He squeezed the Brit's hand gently and said, "I'm here, Peter."

Newkirk fought to open his eyes; when he finally managed after multiple attempts, his milky greyish-green eyes found warm chocolate brown ones. "What…," he croaked, his throat sore and dry. "What 'appened?"

Jout grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and helped Newkirk to drink from it. "You have the flu. And you fainted in the barracks because from exhaustion." After Newkirk had finished the whole glass, Jout helped him settle down again before he gently drove with his fingertips over his boyfriend's flushed and wet forehead. "You really had me worried, Peter. Why haven't you told me that you feel sick?"

Newkirk bit his bottom lip and turned his head to the left, facing the wall. Then he mumbled something, but it was impossible for Jout to understand what his boyfriend had said.

"I don't understand you, Peter." Jout squeezed the Brit's hand again. "Please, I only care for your well-being. And having you hiding something mundane as this hurts me. I'm your boyfriend, Peter; all I want is that you feel good."

Newkirk slowly turned his head again, sorrow striking through his milky green eyes. "M'sorry for 'urtin' ya, Josh. It's just 'at…" his hoarse voice trailed off.

"It's just what?" Jout tenderly stroked with his thumb over Newkirk's warm cheek, the warmth of his brown eyes made his features look soft. The right corner of his mouth was raised into a slight smile. "Whatever it is, I promise not to be mad."

The touch of Jout's tender hand made Newkirk feel even warmer, more so than the fever did. "Me ol' man," he said, his voice still sounding rough. "Every time when I was sick as a lad, me mom would do what every mother does; she cared for me. But me father always threw a tantrum, rantin' 'at I should act like a man. Then 'e would bash me. After some time, I stopped tellin' me mom when I was sick. And this behaviour 'as stuck with me, I guess." He shrugged. "Besides, if ya guys know 'at I'm sick, ya will just baby me. And I 'ate 'at."

"Oh, Peter!" Jout said. He grabbed Newkirk's left hand and moved it to his mouth, kissing it lightly. "I'm so sorry to hear that. And of course would as you call it "baby you"; because we care for you. You are our friend. You are my boyfriend. I love you, and if you feel sick, I will make sure that you get well soon. And no matter if you like it, I won't ever stop making sure you feel alright." He kissed Newkirk's hand again. "Promise to tell me the next time you are sick; I will make sure that the others don't go overboard in caring for you. But please, never again frighten me like you did. When you collapsed, my heart stopped beating."

Newkirk looked in the eyes of his boyfriend. "I promise I will tell ya the next time I'm sick. M'sorry for scarin' ya."

Jout smiled and leaned forward, giving Newkirk a kiss on his sweaty forehead. Suddenly he felt the Brit shivering and he backed away. "Are you cold?"

Newkirk nodded. "Though I still feel warm."

Another shiver went through Newkirk's body, which made Jout taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He lifted one side of the blanket as he ordered, "Move over!"

"What?" asked Newkirk confused, the dizziness and fever clouding his mind over, making it hard for him to understand what was happening.

Jout pushed Newkirk closer to the barracks' wall and slid next to him into the bunk. "How does it look like? I'm sharing body heat with you so that you don't freeze." He laid down on his back and pulled his boyfriend on his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

"But what if a guard walks in?"

"There's no reason for a guard to come in," Jout answered. "The rest of the barracks is outside, and the guards are too afraid to catch your flu to come close to this room." Jout began to rub across Newkirk's back in attempt to warm him up. "Just relax, Peter. Try to sleep; your body needs the rest."

Feeling indeed sleepy again, Newkirk closed his eyes and let himself being rocked into a comforting sleep by Jout's breathing. Lying in bed with the man he loved and hearing his calm breathing made Jout sleepy. Though he tried to fight it, eventually his eyelids were too heavy and he fell asleep.

After the recreational hour was over, Hogan and the other men filled back into the barracks, hoping to warm themselves up with the small heat coming from the stove. Hogan went straight to his room to check on his sick corporal. As he opened the door, he stopped at the sight in front of him, a smile finding its way on his face. Not wanting to interrupt this seldom moment of privacy any further, Hogan went back into the main room and closed the door behind him.

Carter came up to him and asked, "How is Newkirk doing, Colonel? Can I see him."

Hogan placed a hand on Carter's back and said, "I'm sure he's feeling fine, Carter. But I think it's best to leave him alone for the moment."

"Why that, Colonel?" Carter asked, confusion spreading over his face. "Is Jout still with him?"

"He and Josh are in another world; a peaceful one. And who would want to take that away from them?"