A/N: This is a Christmas fic for my dear beta, Starrylizard. She wanted Marcus in trouble, hope this fits the bill:) Also big thanks to englishghosts who provided a quick beta. Any and all mistakes left behind are my own.

Finding footing

The first time Marcus got hurt during an exorcism with Tomas was in their second month on the road. He was flung rather spectacularly against the wall and somehow acquired a gash on his side. Tomas gave him a panicked look but Marcus just waved him off, continuing his own prayer for the lost soul. They were too close to stop and Marcus had had much worse. In fact he would've barely noticed the gash, but he was wearing a light colored shirt and the blood was already seeping through.

"Marcus?" Tomas raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed look at his side, but Marcus just shook his head. The man on the bed cackled and spat, cursing them all to the deepest levels of hell.

"Focus!" Marcus snapped at Tomas and continued with the prayer where he left off. Tomas gave him an uncertain look but followed his lead.

Several hours later they were both dirty and tired, but satisfied with a work well done. The demon left its victim, alive and although scarred, with a good chance at a long and fruitful life. His family was lurking behind the door, pale and shaky, but happy to see the husband and father of two alive, without the metal red tinting his pupils. Marcus and Tomas slipped out quietly, waving off the offer for some bed and rest. They were tired and in dire need of sleep, but there was a perfectly good motel room waiting for them just a few miles away, without curious strangers underfoot.

By the time they left the inconspicuous little house standing lonely at the edge of the town, the right side of Marcus' white shirt had turned crimson. Marcus instinctively zipped up his jacket to not bring any unwanted attention to them and ignored the fact Tomas was walking just a bit too close to him. Once they reached the truck though Tomas seemed to just about reach the end of his patience.

"Okay, enough. Give me the keys."

"What?" Marcus asked, startled at hearing the suddenly commanding tone coming from his otherwise calm apprentice.

"The keys. You're not driving."

"The hell I'm not," Marcus protested and went for the driver's side of the car, but Tomas was faster and blocked his way. And maybe the fact that Marcus didn't clock him right then and there meant he was making a good point.

"You really want us getting killed on the road after we successfully finished an exorcism?" Tomas looked at him as if Marcus was just trying to drown his kitten and Marcus grimaced.

"Look, we spent the last two days locked up in that room, without sleep or proper food. I am so tired I could sleep till the kingdom comes, and I'm not wearing half my blood on my clothes."

Marcus snorted, but finally relented, giving Tomas the keys.

"You know, if I'd lost half my blood I'd already be dead," Marcus couldn't help but comment as he was sitting down in the passenger's seat.

"Thank you for that comforting thought," Tomas quipped and started the car.

The ride was thankfully short and soon Marcus found himself soaking in the warmth of the motel room. It was nothing special, just a dingy old room with two beds, a TV, fridge and microwave, but it had a bathroom with a shower. Right now, with their clothes soiled by different bodily fluids, the shower seemed to be of utmost priority.

"You go first," Tomas said when he saw Marcus eyeing the bathroom door eagerly. Marcus gave him a nod, grabbed some of his spare clothing and closed the door, ignoring Tomas' voice telling him to call if he needed anything. Marcus rolled his eyes and shuffled into the shower stall, leaving his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. He looked at the gash on his side and was relieved to see it was indeed just a gash and his guts weren't hanging out. He could probably use some stitches or superglue, but he could do just as well without. What was one more scar on the already scarred body.

He turned on the shower, wincing when the hot water hit his shoulders, easing the tension, but also stinging like hell on the cut. After a moment, the stinging was ignored for the warmth of the shower. Marcus leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of water washing away all the blood, spit and vomit the demon had blessed them with. Taking a shower after an exorcism always felt like a benediction of sorts, like a new start. Marcus almost fell asleep standing, when there was a knock on the door and Tomas called his name.

"What?" Marcus snapped back gruffly. While he was slowly getting used to sharing motel rooms with another man, he still wasn't used to being checked up on.

"Just... making sure everything's okay?"

"Oh, you mean if I have all my fingers and toes? Yeah, I'm still in one piece. Bugger off, Tomas, I'm okay."

There was a pause, as if Tomas was contemplating his answer. Marcus turned his head a bit, but he didn't hear the door clicking close.

"Well?"

"Do you need help with that wound?" Tomas finally asked, sounding uncertain but also concerned, which just made Marcus roll his eyes.

"It's just a scratch. You can leave the first aid kit on the sink if you want, but I don't need your fussing."

"I don't fuss," Tomas snapped back, a bit hurt, but in the next moment put the first aid kit down on the sink and closed the door, leaving Marcus alone with the now lukewarm shower and his thoughts. Marcus frowned, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower.

Tomas sounded almost... offended, though Marcus didn't understand why. He was a grown ass man who spent the last 40 odd years taking care of himself. Hell, he had the scars to prove that. He didn't need someone fussing over him now, especially not over something as simple as this. Marcus thought that Tomas would be okay with that... happy even to not have to tend to him. Though Marcus knew that wasn't true... Tomas was too caring for his own good. It made sense he would want to make sure his partner wouldn't just die on him from some stupid wound. After all, they were both priests, their whole purpose in life was to help people.

With a shake of his head, Marcus opened the first aid kit and made a quick job of patching himself up. It would've been nice to have someone else do it, but that would mean letting someone else care. Letting someone else too close, letting Tomas see him hurt and vulnerable. That wasn't the image Marcus wanted to portray to his apprentice. It might've been stupid, but Marcus didn't want Tomas to think him weak, not after he pulled him out of the comfort of his new parish, away from his family. No, this was not the time for weakness.

Putting gauze on the wound, Marcus pulled on a fresh shirt and pants and stepped out of the bathroom. Tomas was lounging nearby, giving Marcus a once over look.

"You okay then?" he asked gruffly, pointedly looking at Marcus' side.

"Just peachy. Though you might want to shower quickly, the water is running a bit cold," Marcus said with a smirk and flopped down on his bed. Two minutes later, when the water was turned on, he heard a curse in Spanish and grinned, fluffing up his pillow. Now he could sleep.

Marcus opened his eyes, expecting to see the ceiling of their unremarkable motel room. Instead he saw clear blue sky, an annoyingly shining sun that did nothing for his headache and a pair of concerned brown eyes staring down at him.

"Marcus?" There was also a note of urgency in Tomas' voice and Marcus couldn't stop the groan.

"Tomas," he muttered, one hand reaching up towards his head to find out just why he felt like a horse had run over him.

Tomas let out a sigh of relief and threw a quick look around.

"Are you okay?"

Marcus frowned, feeling the lump on the back of his head and what promised to be a shiner on his right eye. He saw the knuckles on his right hand were scraped. Well, that was interesting.

"Depends on your definition of okay. I seem to be missing some key information," he said and with a groan tried to sit up. Tomas at first halted his movement, but then he heard a sound of sirens and decided to help him into sitting position. "Damn," Marcus grimaced as the movement revealed that he might've taken also few punches in the ribs, though luckily nothing felt broken. "What happened? And where the hell are we?"

"You don't remember anything?" Tomas asked, his brow furrowed in worry and growing panic. Marcus almost rolled his eyes, but refrained.

"I wouldn't ask otherwise," he growled, looking around and realizing they were in some back alley, right next to the overfilled garbage cans. Before Tomas could truly panic and insist that he got checked out for possible brain damage, Marcus caught a sight of a familiar sign on the corner of the alley and everything came back rushing to him.

"Oh..." he said and Tomas who was peering intently into his eyes, relaxed.

"Yeah, oh sounds about right," he said with a light smirk that quickly vanished when he heard the sirens coming closer.

"I don't want to move you around if you're hurt, but we really need to go. Are you up to it?"

Marcus grunted, giving Tomas a look saying 'I'm not a wimp', even as he tried to get up into a standing position. He was very grateful that Tomas ignored that look and put Marcus' arm around his shoulder, offering help and support. The alley tilted for a second and Marcus felt like he would fall, but Tomas was surprisingly strong and sturdy.

"You're sturdier than I thought," he grumbled and grinned when he heard Tomas chuckle.

"And you're scrawnier than I thought," Tomas replied in kind and started moving out of the alley and towards their motel, keeping them away from the main street. They were walking slowly and Marcus stepped on Tomas' foot at least twice, but Tomas didn't complain. The fresh air and movement made Marcus feel more awake by the minute. That also meant he was putting together the events of the last hour.

"So... we got into a bar fight," he stated when their motel came to sight.

"No... it wasn't in a bar and there was no we," Tomas huffed and moved his arm to get a better grip on the other man. "It was all you, partner."

Marcus frowned, because he remembered going to the diner with Tomas, sitting down at a table and ordering a pint along with their lunch.

"I'm still a bit fuzzy on the details," he admitted and hoped Tomas would give him an explanation without too much effort. Tomas huffed, looking at him thoughtfully.

"I should let you stew over it..." he contemplated but then nixed the idea. It wasn't Marcus' fault anyway.

"But you won't, 'cause you're the better man, right?" Marcus said with a grin, as if he was reading his thoughts and Tomas almost left him there on the sidewalk. But Marcus was right, he wouldn't do that. So, with a sigh, Tomas helped Marcus across the road and towards their motel room.

"Do you remember the young waitress that was serving us?" Tomas asked once they were inside the safety of their room and Marcus sat down on his bed with a relieved sigh.

"The small girl with dark curls? Sure."

"What about the two guys that came in after?"

Marcus thought back but the memory was fuzzy.

"I remember you leaving for the bathroom," he thought out loud, and accepted the bottle of cold water Tomas just pulled out of the small fridge. Instead of opening it, though, he put it against the growing bruise on his eye. "Those two guys... they knew the waitress. One of them was her ex-boyfriend?"

"Yeah, it's coming back to you?"

"Bits and pieces," Marcus admitted, but nodded at Tomas to continue.

"Seems like the ex-boyfriend got too handsy and a bit violent. I'm not sure what happened exactly, but when I came back from the bathroom, one of the guys was on the ground unconscious and you were mid swing."

"Sounds like I was winning then," Marcus contemplated. "What went wrong?"

Tomas grimaced and for the first time since Marcus woke up he looked a bit sheepish.

"I might've distracted you," Tomas admitted, still cursing himself for calling out Marcus' name in surprise instead of just rushing across the diner and clocking the other guy on the head. "You hit the boyfriend in the face, but it didn't seem to do much to him. When you turned around, he caught you in the eye and you smacked your head on the way down."

Marcus grimaced, his free hand running over the lump at the back of his head. Something occurred to him though and he lowered the cold bottle of water and looked straight at Tomas, who was now leaning against a table, looking for all the world as if he was in need of a confession.

"Okay, that explains why my head hurts like hell. But why did I wake up in the back alley and why were you so scared of the cops appearing?"

Tomas shrugged, then crossed his arms in front of him, looking somewhere behind Marcus.

"I might've overreacted a bit."

Marcus looked at him questioningly, his eyes suddenly sparking with interest.

"Pray tell, what does you overreacting look like?"

Tomas gave another shrug.

"Do I need to go back there and ask the owner of the diner?" Marcus teased and Tomas shook his head.

"I wouldn't go back anytime soon." Tomas flexed his right hand as if working out a cramp and Marcus noticed the bloody knuckles.

"My my, Tomas, don't tell me you got into a fight! For my sake, no less!" Marcus grinned, feeling a rush of warmth and pride at the thought that Tomas had raised a fist in his name. Tomas blushed, looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

"It wasn't like I went there planning to hit the guy," he said, though that wasn't the whole truth. Oh yeah, Tomas wanted to punch that guy hard the second he saw Marcus going down. But his first instinct was to go over and check on his partner, make sure he was still alive and with his skull intact.

"Come on, don't make me guess. What did you do?"

"I just went to check on you, that's all. Not my fault that asshole started smirking and saying all that shit..." Even just speaking about it, Tomas felt the anger coming back. He felt personally attacked by the slurs that were thrown at the girl and Marcus, at his own collar and the church. He was content on ignoring it, but then the guy reached for the now sobbing waitress and Tomas left Marcus lying on the ground. He jumped up and went face to face with the guy, pushing him away from the girl and telling him where to stick his holier than thou head. The guy just laughed at him though, pointing at the collar and wiggling his eyebrow suggestively.

"What're you gonna do to me, padre? Tell me to pray ten Hail Mary's? You are nothing but a filthy-" Tomas didn't let him finish. He felt his fist connect with the guy's nose, heard a satisfying crunch and watched in slow motion as the guy sprawled out on the ground, knocked out.

The momentary triumph he felt was interrupted by a groan coming from the other guy that was regaining consciousness and most of all by the pissed looking diner owner who finally came out along with the cook and pulled the waitress away.

"I'd grab your friend and get lost if I were you, father," the owner advised, looking at Tomas and his collar with a frown. "I called the cops and I doubt you want to spend the night in jail."

Tomas wasn't sure why he should be the one going to jail, but didn't want to risk it. While they weren't exactly on the run, he and Marcus were trying to keep a low profile. So he grabbed Marcus, hoping he won't cause any further injury and dragged him to the back exit he saw on his way from the bathroom and out to the alley.

"What a shame," Marcus said with a sigh and looked really disappointed. Tomas ducked his head, biting his lip.

"Finally a chance to get into a proper fight, to see you throw a punch... and I miss it."

Tomas looked up, surprised to see the smirk on Marcus' face instead of a reproaching glare he was expecting.

"So... tell me, hermano. How did it feel?"

Tomas inclined his head in thought then a smile broke out on his face.

"Divine," he replied and enjoyed the sound of Marcus' laughter.

In the grand scheme of things, catching the flu seemed like such a let down... like a joke. They were dealing with demons crawling and biting at them, with festering wounds and possessed people projectile vomiting who knew what on them almost on daily basis... yet what took him down seemed to be a small child sneezing at them in the check-out line of the Wal-Mart. Marcus still couldn't believe that after all he went through, it was a simple sneeze that had shown him on his ass.

"God must really hate me," he muttered and pulled in a sniffle, ignoring Tomas' grimace.

"Don't be melodramatic," Tomas said wearily and threw a box of tissues his way. Marcus caught the box and put it aside with a glare.

"Okay, it's your fault then. Who wanted to go shopping in the middle of the day?"

Tomas' eyes widened at the accusation.

"You were the one complaining about the swill of coffee we had at the motel! I was trying to find something worth drinking!"

"Since when do you listen to my complaining?" Marcus rolled his eyes and sneezed into his arm.

"Oh for the love of-" Tomas crossed the distance between them, grabbed the box of tissues and pushed it into Marcus' hand. "Use the damn thing!" he all but growled. "I swear, you're worse than Luis with the measles!"

Marcus looked up with hurt eyes and Tomas cringed, but didn't apologize. Really, the man was impossible to figure out! He would happily ignore a deep bleeding wound for several hours with barely a wince, but the moment he got a scratchy throat and the sniffles, he was practically dying. And yeah, Tomas understood that feeling crappy and being stuck in a trashy motel room with him as the only company wasn't the ideal situation. At least Bennett was giving them a few days off... all he needed was hearing Marcus' grumpy voice the last time he called to check on them.

'We would be doing bloody fine, if the damn flu shots worked as they should!' Marcus snapped into the phone and managed to dissuade Bennett from calling for at least several days. Not that Tomas blamed him for it... even when they were between cases, Bennett liked to keep tabs on them, all the time. It was a bit disconcerting, really.

"Tomas?" Marcus asked a bit sheepishly and Tomas frowned, unused to the tone.

"Hm?"

"Could you... bring me some of that coffee? My throat is killing me."

Tomas blinked.

"Wouldn't tea be better then?"

"No. I don't know why, but your tea is worse than your coffee," Marcus said, the pleading look replaced by annoyance and Tomas bit his lip from saying something he didn't want to. He still made a sound that was very close to a growl.

"That's what I get for playing a nurse," he muttered under his nose and grabbed his jacket.

"Where you going?" Marcus asked, too innocently and that raised some suspicion in Tomas, but he was too annoyed to listen to it.

"Out... to get you some 'proper' coffee and something for your throat. Wouldn't want you to suffer longer than necessary."

'And me with you,' he added in his mind.

"Make sure it's not just some colored water, yeah?"

The only answer Marcus got was a slam of the door. He waited a moment then let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a cough. Finally, alone. He was trying to get Tomas to leave him alone for the last three hours, to let him suffer in silence and stop with his fussing, but the younger man was more stubborn than Marcus thought.

It wasn't like he wanted to act like a baby, but ever since last night when he started sneezing and coughing, Tomas was watching him like a hawk, and it made Marcus' skin crawl. Usually when he was sick, and that didn't happen all that often, he would just crawl into bed and get out three days later, stinky from sweat but relatively okay. Now though he had a partner that could get into a mother hen mood faster than one would say Mother Theresa.

Not that Marcus blamed Tomas, nurturing seemed to be in his nature, but he wasn't used to that. His own mother wasn't much of a caregiver in the first place and losing her at such young age didn't give Marcus a lot of experience with being taken care of. The nurse at the home for boys was usually terse, too tired from dealing with a bunch of boys turning into teenagers. She didn't have the time or energy to invest herself or grow personally attached to any one of them. Which meant that if he wasn't outright dying, Marcus wouldn't get anyone to caress his cheek or gently check his temperature. The nuns at the church were of course better, but Marcus had already built up his walls.

Still, he was a touch starved person without a sense for personal boundaries. Tomas had figured that one out pretty quickly himself and Marcus had to smile as the memory of their first meeting popped into his mind. Who would have thought that pushing a stranger into a wall and shouting in their face would gain him a partner. An annoying, caring partner which he kept pestering since he woke up with his stuffed nose and the crawling feeling on his skin announcing a fever.

Finally, though, Tomas left and Marcus hoped that he would keep his distance for the next few days, however unlikely that was. He didn't need to learn what it felt like to be cared for after 40 years... it was too late to have that now, too late to get used to something that might be gone within a moment. Because Marcus was pretty sure that Tomas won't be sticking around forever... not once he learned that his mentor was cast away by God, that his mentor had his own demons and secrets. With those unhappy thoughts on his mind, Marcus turned his face into the pillow and fell into uneasy sleep.

When Tomas returned several hours later, Marcus was still asleep. Tomas bit his lip, unsure if he should wake the man or let him sleep. Dealing with a sick Marcus seemed to be a more tiring chore than Tomas would've originally guessed, though if the older man felt half as crappy as he looked, he probably deserved some indulgence. Carefully, Tomas walked across the room, depositing the bag with the shopping on the table. He could hear Marcus snoring softly, but he could also see the thin sheen of sweat covering his face.

'Well, nothing risked, nothing gained,' Tomas thought as he silently walked up to the bed and reached out to check Marcus' temperature. His fingers touched the warm skin, but then quickly lost feeling as Marcus' hand shot out and grabbed Tomas' wrist in a vice grip.

Tomas hissed and pulled away, only to be met by a pair of shiny blue eyes.

"Tomas?" Marcus asked, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

"I didn't want to wake you," Tomas said with an apologetic look.

"Then why in bloody hell were you touching me?" Marcus looked more confused than angry and Tomas shrugged.

"I was gone a bit longer than planned. Just wanted to make sure you weren't burning up."

Marcus looked at him as if he was some strange bug, but didn't comment. He was pretty sure he had a fever, but nothing that would be cause for any unwarranted concern. Instead he sniffed the air and frowned.

"I don't smell any coffee," he said, accusingly and it was Tomas who rolled his eyes this time.

"I doubt you could smell anything right now," he answered with a smirk and Marcus threw a bundle of used tissues at him. Tomas sidestepped, looking only slightly disgusted.

"Well, at least you figured out how to use them."

"Don't be cheeky. Where's my coffee?"

Tomas sighed and reached into the shopping bag for a cup of coffee.

"Probably not to your liking, but that's the best I found." He handed the coffee over, shaking his head when he saw Marcus practically inhaling the whole content of the cup. He rummaged through the bag and pulled out several other items, earning a curious look from the exorcist.

"Not the worst," Marcus commented on the coffee, though it really wasn't the best either. But he didn't have the heart to send Tomas on another shopping trip. He was already looking about done in.

"Why, thanks for your glowing review," Tomas quipped and smiled when he discovered the item he was looking for. "Ha, still hot. Great."

"What's that?" Marcus asked with some suspicion when Tomas handed him a Styrofoam container and a spoon, with a satisfied grin on his face.

"That's a special spicy Mexican chicken broth. Just the thing to cure anything from cold to plague, as my Abuelita used to say," Tomas had a longing look on his face and Marcus decided to give it try. He sniffed at it suspiciously, but even his clogged nose could discern that the smell coming from the soup was delicious.

"I didn't know there was a Mexican restaurant nearby," Marcus said after taking a first sip and feeling the rich and spicy aroma on his tongue. Not bad, not bad at all, he thought as he felt the burning of the chili peppers starting to clear his sinuses.

"No, the closest one is on the other side of the town," Tomas admitted and sat down with a sigh. He had walked all the way and he felt a bit tired, but also pleasantly relaxed. "I needed to clear my head a bit... didn't get a chance to go for a run this last week, so I was a bit restless," he explained at Marcus' questioning look.

"Oh, well. Thanks anyway. Did you get yourself some too?" he asked and Tomas smiled, pulling out another container.

"I can never say no to a good soup." Tomas started eating too, speaking softly about interesting places he saw on his walk and about his Abuelita always making soup when he was sick as a child. Marcus listened intently, taking in the relaxed look on the younger man's face and thought that maybe he should give him some slack. As long as he got some space and Tomas didn't overdo it with the fussing, Marcus could try and not to be a total ass when he needed a little bit of help. After all, he wanted to make sure Tomas knew they could count on each other, under any circumstances.

Two days later, the tables had turned and Marcus' resolve of not being an ass went out the window. He was almost over the cold from hell, maybe also because of all the small things Tomas kept pushing at him... these homemade remedies. If nothing else, Tomas believed in them and faith was half the job. Marcus didn't have a choice but to accept the strange teas and he ate more soup than he cared for. The last one smelling of garlic so much that they had to open the windows afterwards.

Still, whatever Tomas did, it worked and on the third day Marcus woke up with clear airways and without the constant thumping inside his head. Also, hungry as hell. Stretching in the bed like a cat, smirking when he heard the popping of his bones, Marcus opened his eyes to the sun shining in through the curtains. Yawning, he sat up and looked towards Tomas' bed, expecting it to be empty. The last two days Tomas went out running every morning to get some fresh air and give Marcus some space.

To Marcus' surprise though the younger man was still in bed, seemingly asleep. Marcus frowned and checked the clock on the wall. It was past nine a.m... much too late for Tomas to be still sleeping.

"Tomas?" Marcus crossed the space between their beds and touched the younger man's shoulder, planning to shake him awake. Instead, he felt the heat coming off his skin and grimaced.

"Great, just great," he muttered then shook the shoulder, only to be met by a bleary look.

"Marcus? Y'need something?" Tomas asked, rubbing at his eyes and yawning, but not even pretending on planning to get out of the bed.

"Yeah, I'm hungry. You want to go grab something to eat?"

"Mhm... dame cinco minutos más, por favor," Tomas mumbled and turned on his stomach, pulling the pillow to cover his eyes.

Marcus snorted.

"I doubt five more minutes will do you much good, hermano, but have at it." With a shake of a head, Marcus headed for the bathroom. When he finished his morning ablutions, he grabbed his jacket and cell phone. He needed to call Bennett and tell him they were out of count for a few more days. While Marcus didn't want to put off any case that would need their help, he could just imagine how well it would go over if in the middle of the exorcism Tomas started sneezing or coughing after every 'Pray for us'. True, the demon would probably piss itself laughing, but then it would make a quick work of them. Nah, better not risk it.

When he returned from the food run, Tomas was already up. He was sitting on the bed, still in his sweatpants and shirt and with hair in such disarray that Marcus had to take a second look. Nope, there was no bird nesting there.

"Hey, darling, I'm home," Marcus called out and took in the grimace on Tomas' face. Headache from loud sounds, check.

"Hey," Tomas said in a scratchy voice and Marcus checked off another box. With a knowing smile, he threw an unopened box of tissues at Tomas, who fumbled to catch them. "Thanks."

'Looks like he doesn't speak much when sick,' Marcus put that away into a folder with useful information about one Tomas Ortega.

"Do you feel as great as you look?" Marcus asked and Tomas groaned and laid down into the soft bed, hiding his face from the world and the irritating sun.

"I thought so," Marcus chuckled and a minute later rolled Tomas over. "Come on, sit up. I brought you your favorite soup," he said and waved the cup with the soup enticingly in front of Tomas' face.

"Can't you just let me sleep until I get better or die?" Tomas grumbled, but let Marcus help him sit up.

"Nope, Bennett already invested too much time in you. And I walked all the way to get you soup. So shut your mouth and eat."

Tomas glared when Marcus pushed the soup into his hands.

"Kind of hard to shut up and eat at the same time," he said and Marcus wondered how come they didn't kill each other when he was in the same mood a few days back. Probably God's work.

"Don't be a smartass and eat the damn soup."

They glared at each other, but Marcus was already feeling better and Tomas was fighting an urge to sneeze. He lost of course and Marcus pointed towards the still empty spoon.

"Well?"

"I knew I should have just left you in here and slept in the car," Tomas sighed but finally relented. The smell of the soup, or what he could feel, was enticing enough. He took a sip and his face turned from pale to pink as he gasped for air. Marcus chuckled, eyebrows raised in mirth.

"Careful, it's a bit spicy," he said with a smirk. "I told them to add a bit more of those chili peppers, so you can get rid of the cold that much faster."

He thought the next words coming out of Tomas' mouth would be: "You're an ass," but instead Tomas took another spoonful of the soup. This time he was prepared for the burning sensation, seemed to almost appreciate it.

"Thanks," he said with a small smile. "I knew you cared."

"Oh, shut up and eat your soup," Marcus said, ignoring the doped up smile on Tomas' face. Maybe, just maybe, this thing called partnership could work.

The End