A/N: This is all hadrians77's fault. She put the idea in my head, so this one's for her.

Sahira was about to knock on Hanssen's door when she heard a peculiar noise from inside. It actually worried her. She threw the door open without even knocking. "What are you doing in here?" she asked. She was right to ask, too. He was leaning to his left, with his head dropped so he was apparently looking at the floor. She went around the desk to see what was apparently so interesting. What she found was a bucket with what appeared to be vomit in it. "You're ill," she stated. He looked up at her, refusing to admit to it. Of course, the invincible Henrik Hanssen was going to keep working through a stomach bug, even if he has to throw up every five minutes. "Go home, Henrik," she sighed. "You can't work like this."

"A simple virus is not going to kill me," he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He did have to admit, though, that the sickness and temperature were very unpleasant. But it was no reason for him to cease working. He knew that operating was unrealistic, but there was no reason that he could not do his other work.

"Henrik," she warned him, more firmly this time. This had only happened once before in the sixteen years she had known him, and it was evident that he hated admitting defeat. There was nothing that seemed to irritate him more. "You can't be serious."

"I am deadly serious, Miss Shah. What concern is it of yours, anyway?" he demanded. She glared at him for that question. It was so typical of him that she honestly couldn't be bothered to answer. He had asked that so many times in sixteen years that he sometimes sounded like a CD with a huge scratch on it. She always had to answer, though, and it never really sunk in for him.

"You know, Henrik, for someone so intelligent -" she paused while he threw up into the bucket again. Once he was facing her again, she continued, "- you really are dense sometimes." She received a glower for her cheek. It was true, though. The man had no sense of what he was worth or how much Sahira actually cared. It frustrated her when he was ill or he was troubled and refused to accept help of any kind. She went over and picked up his coat, handing it to him over the desk. "I'm taking you home," she stated definitely. He was staying here to make it even worse. He needed to rest, not pour over complicated paperwork.

His eyes challenged her defiantly; he most definitely did not wish to go home due to a silly stomach virus. She met his gaze with equal stubbornness, out-staring him in his discomfort. Reluctantly, he took the coat from her and put it on before grabbing his files and laptop. "No," she said suddenly. He looked up in surprise. "Paperwork stays here. So does the computer," she smirked. She knew why he went to take them; it was work. He was a workaholic, sometimes to the point where it was unhealthy.

He glared at her once more before accepting that he would not win this fight. He walked alongside her al the way down the corridor to the lifts. When they were outside the hospital, Henrik was forced to lean over a bin when his stomach flipped. There was another dispute over who was driving, until Sahira pointed out that Hanssen would be concentrating on not being sick and not on the road, and she would very much like to survive the journey. She drove as slowly as she could, being careful not to swing the car unnecessarily. The last thing she wanted was to make it any worse.

When they arrived, he unlocked the door and steeped into his house. Sahira followed him; he did not object as she expected him to. He seemed to have realised that she was not going to listen to him anyway. "Sit down," she ordered him when he immediately went to the kitchen to make her coffee. He ignored her until she said a bit louder, "Henrik! On the sofa. Now!" He retreated,obeying her before she got irritated.

She went upstairs to grab his duvet. His bedroom was interesting; not what she had expected at all. She anticipated a bland, outdated bedroom, but found blue walls with multiple city skyline canvases of New York, London, Paris and Sydney. There was nothing that she had expected, apart from the pile of books on his bedside table. She picked up the top one that had a bookmark in it. "The Surgeon," she breathed, turning it over. Crime novel. Of course he would only read something that would make him think. She took that back down with her too. She could not expect him to sit at peace in front of the TV; she doubted that it was switched on very often anyway.

When she returned laden with the duvet and book, she found the living room empty. She threw the things on the sofa and crossed the hall to the downstairs toilet. She knocked on the door and heard him throwing up again. She slipped in and sat next to him, leaning against the wall. "You never will lose that stupid pride of yours, will you?" she sighed. He still had not admitted to being sick.

"Probably not," he allowed, before leaning over the toilet again. His face had drained a shade of white that was more grey than anything else. Her fingers rested in his hair as an assurance that she would look after him, whether he wanted it or not. He would have no choice in the matter. He threw his head back and coughed a little. "Alright, I'll admit that I'm not well," he finally said.

"Took long enough," she smiled. "Are you finished?" she added.

"For now, at least," he agreed. She stood up and helped him to his feet gently. As they walked through to the living room, Sahira asked, "Do you have any Coke?"

"There's some Diet Coke in the fridge," he told her. He sat down on the couch and sighed. Sahira put the duvet across him while he tried to resist that act of care. She eventually won that battle when he was forced to accept that he could not get out of it. She went to the kitchen and poured some cola in a glass. She could tell it had already gone flat, which was exactly what she wanted.

She handed him the glass and told him to sip it. He gave her a sceptical look and she insisted, "My mum always told me to drink flat Coke when I had a stomach bug. It always settled the nausea. Just try it." She sat next to him, under the quilt, and picked up his book, flicking through it, reading random pages of it. "I don't know how you can read that," she concluded. "I wouldn't be able to. It's so horrible."

He took it from her and started reading where he had left off the previous night. He suppressed the smile that came to his lips when her head rested on his arm. She didn't need the sound of the television or radio to content her; she was happy just to feel Henrik relax next to her. He kept sipping the cola slowly as she told him he had to. Eventually, she felt his head drop on top of hers as he started drifting towards sleep. She smiled and said, "I never thought I'd see the day where Henrik Hanssen falls asleep on top of me."

"I'm not falling asleep," he said groggily. The illness had exhausted him to the point that he didn't really care where he slept.

Sahira gave a laugh at his defiance to admit tiredness. He was bound to be tired, especially after spending the last twelve hours being sick. "Liar," she accused with a playful grin, nudging his arm slightly. She locked her arm around his and leaned into him further. This was the first time he had allowed this kind of closeness with her; she was kept at arm's length as much as possible normally.

She felt herself drifting with him, until they were both sound asleep. Sahira's last thought before succumbing completely to sleep was, "If only he would let me this close more often. Oh well. He is who he is, I guess. Stubborn, proud, sarcastic, arrogant and guarded. He has a good heart though..."

Hope it was OK!

Please review!

Sarah x