Disclaimer: They don't belong to me but you know that already.

AN: They say misery loves company and as I am ill this week I decided so should others - so I'm taking Harm along on my journey. The conditions aren't the same... but it makes for a little distraction for me.


So that said, all mistakes are definitely mine...

Spot

Caught in Chicago, after the key witness in their latest case was found to have absconded to California, just hours before they arrived on a three day investigation, Mac and Harm were stranded in the city after a sudden and severe snowstorm blanketed everything making departure impossible. 'Probably days,' said the airlines. 'Impossible to tell,' said the weather man. So, after consulting Cresswell and finding there were no military options, they checked into The Fairmont Hotel on North Columbus Drive. With rooms at a premium, thanks to a computer software convention, they were given a two bedroom suite on the 32nd floor.
"Oh, this is beautiful," enthused Mac, taking in the luxury appearance of the tastefully decorated suite. "A perfect place to be snowed in."
"Yeah," Harm grumbled, throwing his bag onto the floor.
"Which room do you want?" she asked, checking out both bedrooms. "They look pretty similar."
"Don't care," he replied, hitching up his bag once more. "Which one do you want?"
"I'll take this one," she said, moving in and depositing her bag on the suitcase stand. "Oh my god, you should see the tub! I hope it snows all week!"
Harm didn't bother with a reply, the thought alone exhausted him and he sat wearily on the end of his bed.

"It's 1837, what do you say we do something about dinner," Mac began as she entered his room. "We never..." she trailed as she took in his appearance. "You okay, Harm? You don't seem yourself."
"Yeah, I'm okay," he replied with a deep sigh. "Just feeling very tired and flu-y."
With that, Mac placed the back of her hand on his forehead. "You don't seem to have a temperature."
"I know," he said, removing her hand. "I just feel out of sorts."
"Well, how about I order room service and you can eat and go straight to bed," Mac suggested, studying him.
"Not really hungry," he said, "but you can go ahead."
"We didn't eat lunch and you had little for breakfast," she commented. "How about something light? "
"Whatever," he replied, completely disinterested in the topic of food. "I'm going to get changed."

Mac let him be as she went to check out the hotel guide and to see what their room service menu had on offer. Starving, herself, her first perusal was to find something suitable for Harm. She had known when they'd left the airport for the home of their witness in Des Plaines that Harm wasn't quite right. Even though the sky was dull and heavy, he'd put on his sunglasses and still winced in the daylight. Refusing Mac's offer of analgesics at the time, he'd explained it wasn't anything, he was just tired. Mac had just smiled and slipped them into his jacket pocket, reminding him they would be there just in case ... in reality, she knew he rarely admitted to being unwell and would take them if he needed them before he told her there was a problem.

The phone call to housekeeping services made, Mac returned to her room, changed into her sweats and returned to the living area to await the food. Grabbing the remote, she flicked on the television and settled onto the sofa, snuggling into the overstuffed pillows in the corner. Twenty minutes later, Harm appeared in his pyjamas, causing Mac to smile.
"Did you order?" he asked, sitting alongside her and resting his heavy head on the back of the sofa.
"Yes, I did," she replied, turning down the volume.
"Did you order something for me?" he asked, rolling his head so he could see her.
"Yes, I did," she repeated. "Soup and toasted cheese sandwiches, and ice cream and jello."
"Just what I feel like," he replied, taking hold of her hand. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she replied, squeezing his hand. "Anything I can do to make you feel better?"
"Nah," he sighed, "but thanks."
"What do you think it is?" she asked, entwining her fingers through his.
"Probably the flu ... there's a lot going around this winter," he said, closing his eyes. "Half the staff at Headquarters seem to have been out with it in the last month."
"True," she agreed, reaching out to rake her fingers across his scalp in an attempt to take away the pain she saw in his eyes.
"Mmmm," he murmured under her soft touch. He hated being sick, he hated being around people when he was sick, well, most people, he always made the exception for Mac; she always made him feel better.
By the time the food arrived, Harm had almost drifted off; he was more than disappointed when the knock caused Mac to move away from him.
"Ma'am, sir," said the young man as he placed the tray on the table. "Enjoy."
Slowly, Harm stood up and made his way over to the table as Mac pulled out a chair for him.
"What can I get you to drink?" she asked, holding up the bottles of juice and soda she'd ordered.
"Juice, thanks," he replied, smiling as she poured the OJ into his glass.
Ravenous, Mac had worked her way through her burger and large serve of curly fries before Harm was even halfway though his soup and sandwich. Swallowing each new mouthful seemed like a greater effort than the last one and, eventually, he gave up and pushed the bowl and plate away.
"Don't like it?" Mac asked, as she refilled his glass.
"It's okay," he replied. "I'm just so tired..." he added, yawning.
"Do you want the ice cream and jello now?" she asked, uncovering his dessert.
"Nah, you can have it," he answered, scrubbing his hand over his tired features. "I might just head to bed."
"Call out if you need me," she offered as she watched him enter his room and close the door.

Having put Harm's ice cream in the freezer and jello into the fridge, Mac decided to watch a movie before having a long soak in the tub. Well relaxed, Mac dried and changed into a long white cotton nightie before returning to her bedroom. After pulling down the quilt, setting her book on the side table and grabbing her water bottle, she decided to check on Harm before settling into bed.
Rapping softly, she eased open his door when she got no reply and padded over to his bed.
"Hey," she whispered when his eyes fluttered open as she adjusted his quilt.
"Argh," he croaked as he tried to focus on her face.
"Ooh, that didn't sound good," she said, propping herself on the edge of his bed.
"Feel like crap," he groaned as she felt his forehead once more.
"You're running a temperature there, Harm," she said, caressing his face. "Let me go get you a cold compress."

Returning, Mac brought with her the cold compress, a glass of water and packet of Tylenol. "Sit up for me, Harm," she said as she placed the items on the side table.
Harm groaned with effort as he tried to sit, his head falling back as she came to sit with him once more.
"It's okay," she said softly, looking at the miserable expression on his face, before handing him the glass and two tablets. "Take these for me." With considerable effort, Harm digested both tablets. "Drink it all," she reminded him, and dutifully he did. When she replaced the glass on the table, she picked up the compress and helped him ease back down into the bed for placing it across his fevered brow. "Does that feel better?" she asked and he nodded. "Good."

For the next forty five minutes, Mac sat there and watched as he drifted in and out of sleep. Flipping over the compress as it lost its effectiveness; she made sure to frequently wet it to keep it useful. Finally, Harm seemed to settle into a deeper sleep and Mac picked up the compress and turned off the lamp. Standing and adjusting his covers once more, she was surprised when his hand caught her wrist.
"Please don't go," he whispered hoarsely.
Mac flicked back on the lamp and studied him. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was ... I know it's late and you're tired but please don't go," he repeated, still holding her in place.
"Okay, okay," she soothed. "I'll stay."

Before long, Mac settled into the bed beside him, making sure to stay far enough away that combined body heat wouldn't cause him more problems. It was a rough night for Harm, the fever returning several times and sending him tossing and turning. For Mac, it meant an endless night of cold compresses and fluids.

Just as dawn broke, with snow still falling, Harm fell asleep once more, and so did Mac, in the armchair she'd pulled up alongside the bed, not wanting to disturb him by climbing into his bed once more. Hours later, she awoke with a sore neck and cold feet but smiled when she saw Harm was still sound asleep, clutching onto the pillow she had been using earlier.

Dressed and eating the brunch she'd ordered, Mac was perusing the hotel guide as Harm appeared once more.
"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, getting to her feet as he leaned on his bedroom door jamb.
"Did I die in the night and forget to tell my body?" he asked, his eyes seeming to swirl.
"Oh, no," she replied, walking to him. "Still not feeling well?"
"Uh uh," he groaned, shaking his head slowly.
Mac rested her hand on his forehead once more. "You're still hot."
"Never thought you'd noticed," he said with a weak grin, his ability to flirt with her still intact.
"Oh, I noticed," she replied with a wink. "I've organised for a hotel doctor to come and see you but..."
"That's not necessary," he interjected, he didn't like doctors at all.
"But..." she continued anyway, "he won't be here until at least 1400 hours."
"Mac, I don't need..." he protested.
"You do... look," she said as she unbuttoned the top of his pyjama top.
There, under the blue fabric, was a red, nasty spot, as she continued to unbutton his top more came into view. "Now I might not be an expert, but I've seen spots like this before," she said, peeling off his top. "And like these," she continued, looking at his back.
"Oh no," he groaned, shaking his head, he knew what was coming next.
"Yep, thanks to Jimmy Roberts, I'd say you have the Chicken Pox."

Dr Mac's diagnosis was spot on and the hotel doctor confirmed it during his late afternoon visit. Childhood Chicken Pox was one thing, Chicken Pox in adults was something altogether different and far more serious than Mac had ever imagined.
"Why do you look so worried?" Harm asked returning from the bathroom after the doctor had departed.
"No reason," she said, tossing the brochure to the sofa. "Now, you have to eat with your medication..."
"I don't want to take medication," he interjected. "Jimmy didn't need medication..."
"It's different for adults," she said. "If you start the Aciclovir as soon as possible after the onset of the rash, it can lessen the severity and it is important when you are also running a high fever."
"But Jimmy didn't..." he began again.
"Jimmy's three, he also didn't have a high temperature and it's not as bad for kids," she explained quietly. "Now, what do you want to have for dinner and I'll order it?"
"Maaacc," he whined, fed up with feeling this unwell and eating at the same time. "I don't want..."
"They have a range of soups and breads, or veggie sausages and mash, or ..." she trailed turning the page.
"Hot dog," he said dropping onto the sofa.
"Hot dog?" she repeated.
"That's what I want – a hot dog, with mustard," he declared.
"But, Harm, you're a vegetarian, you don't eat hot dogs," Mac gently reminded him.
"Not now, but I used to and when I was sick that's what mom would make for me... hot dogs... well, usually just the little cocktail franks not all the bread..." he explained as he closed his eyes and drifted back to those days. "And she'd make my favourite apple pie and heap on the ice cream and I'd get to eat it in bed..."

With a delay in the kitchen, Harm was actually hungry by the time the food arrived and ate most of it; as well as taking the prescribed medication without further argument. Through it all, though, he fidgeted and shifted uncomfortably as he fought the overwhelming urge to scratch the pesky spots adorning his body.

"Don't," Mac cautioned, as he was about to scratch his chest. "It'll make it worse."
"Easy for you to say," he growled, "It's not your body covered in the plague."
"It's not quite the plague, Harm," she said with a smile.
"Feels like it," he retorted using the heel of his hand to rub a particularly itchy spot.
"Stop," she said, rising from the table, her meal complete. "I'm going to run you a bath."
"Don't want one," he grumbled.
"Too bad," she replied, picking up the jug of brown vinegar housekeeping had kindly sent up for her.
"What's that?" he asked, watching her walk away.
"Brown vinegar for your bath, it will stop the itching," she explained, smiling when he appeared in the bathroom door.
"I'll smell like fish and chips," he continued.
"Good thing I like fish and chips then," she countered, turning on the water and pouring in the vinegar.

After a nice long soak, Harm went to get out but was overcome by dizziness and slumped back into the water, causing it to splash over the edge. "Damn!' he growled.
"What's wrong, Harm?" Mac asked, coming to the closed door. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine," he replied, trying to stand once more. The result was the same.
"Harm, I'm coming in, okay?" she half warned, half announced as she eased the door open.
"I said I was fine," he repeated as he held onto the edge of the tub.
"You don't look..." she began.
"Stop there!" he interrupted, wanting to keep some level of modesty.
"You've seen me in the tub before," she reminded him.
"Yeah, and you were covered in bubbles," he replied, "Brown vinegar doesn't give the same sort of coverage."

Mac stopped moving and waited until he looked at her. "Harm, honestly, are you capable of getting out of this bathtub without doing yourself an injury?" she asked, her eyes locking with his.
"Probably not," he finally conceded.
"Then why won't you let me help you?" she asked, picking up the bath sheet from the rail.
"I don't think ... I don't want... you know... being in the water and it's gotten cold and ... well," he tried to explain but there was no easy way for him to tell Mac he didn't want her to see his 'bits and pieces' as his mother used to refer to it.
"I promise I won't look," she said, smiling at the adorable look of shyness on his face.

Helping him stand and step out, Mac wrapped the white towel around his waist before sitting him on the stool by the vanity unit. Picking up another one, Mac tenderly patted dry the rest of him, so he didn't aggravate the red marks over his body.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, trying to distract him from her efforts.
"Tired," he replied, his head lowered.
"You'll feel better soon," she reassured him, leaning down to kiss his head.
"Thank you," he replied, taking her hand and kissing it. "I'm so glad you're here with me...sorry it's miserable for you too."
"Don't apologise," she whispered. "If it had to happen, then at least we're doing it in style."
"True," he sighed as Mac helped him on with his top, leaving the buttons undone.
Kneeling down, Mac lifted one leg, then the other, so his pyjama bottoms were all but done.
"I think I can do it from here," he said, stopping her.
"Okay," she agreed and left him to it.

When Harm awoke sometime the next day, he struggled to figure out whether it was night or morning or afternoon. All he knew was the room was still dark, thanks to the heavy drapes, and he was alone. Before he could decide what he wanted to do about it, his door opened and Mac appeared carrying a tray.
"Morning," he mumbled, reaching for the bedside lamp.
"Good afternoon," she replied, smiling brightly. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I punched out over inhospitable land," he said, sitting up.
"Looks like you've started to blister too," Mac commented, nodding to the spots on his arm.
"Great," he said sarcastically as she placed the tray over his lap.
"You feeling up to eating?" she asked as she handed him his medication.
"Nope," he sighed, "but you're going to make me, aren't you?"
"Yep," she said, grinning. "But I'm sure you'll like it."

With a wave of her hand, she removed the metal cover and revealed still-runny poached eggs, with toast cut into strips. "Your favourite 'being sick breakfast' poached eggs and ..."
"Sailors," they said in unison.
"Mind you," Mac continued. "The rest of the world calls them soldiers ...but I guess you can call them sailors being Navy and all."
"How did you know?" he asked, gazing at her with a combined look of adoration and thanks.
"I phoned your mom last night," she replied, pouring his juice for him.
"When?" he asked, a sailor toast paused mid dipping.
"When you were busily drooling on me, right there," she said, pointing to the space beside him. "About midnight," she added.
"Did you sleep with me again?" he asked more surprised than curious, as he thought he would have known if she had have been there.
"Well, I came in to check on you and you were talking to me about something, so I sat down beside you and you moved to drape yourself over me and promptly fell asleep, drooling all the while," she reported, a smile tugging her lips.
"Oh, sorry," he apologised.
"Don't worry ... anyway, you'd been saying you were sure you'd had Chicken Pox before, so I called your mom but you haven't," Mac explained, gesturing to him to eat. "Then we chatted for quite a while and I asked about your favourite food when you're sick and this was one of them."
"Thank you," he whispered, tears filling his eyes. This was another reason he hated being ill, it made him too emotional for his own good.
"You're welcome," she replied, studying him. "You okay?"
"Aha," he sniffled, turning his attention back to his breakfast.
"You just enjoy it," Mac said, kissing his head. "And I'll be back soon," she added, leaving to give him some time to eat and compose himself.

The next time Mac saw him, he was walking out of the bedroom carrying the empty tray.
"Thanks, Mac, it was great," he said, placing the tray on the table.
"Did you finish it?" she asked, putting down her book and moving over to him.
"Yep. Look, all gone," he said proudly, it was the most he'd eaten in days.
"You've been scratching too," she commented, pointing to the telltale marks on his neck.
"That's because they're so itchy," he retorted. "And damned annoying."
"Well, go have a shower to cool off and ..." Mac began.
"Can I have another vinegar bath?" he interrupted.
"You've changed your tune," Mac laughed. "But no, housekeeping has no more brown vinegar and can't get any with this snow."
"Well, what about using white vinegar?" he asked, not caring about the colour.
"No, it will sting and it won't help," she replied. "But Harriet phoned this morning, she apologised profusely by the way, she suggested a bicarbonate of soda remedy. So, you go shower first and I'll apply it when you are ready."
"I'm sure I could apply it myself," he remarked, not wanting to put her out anymore than he already had.
"And how would you get the ones all over your back and the back of your legs?" she asked, sitting on the arm of the sofa.
"Oh, well, yeah," he conceded. "I guess I'll need your help.

Coming out from the bathroom, Harm had his own plan... Mac could treat any part of him not covered by his blue plaid boxers, anything that was covered he'd do... whether it was successful or not.

Laughing as she dabbed the mix over his spots, Mac conceded that she would allow him to do the last few which she couldn't see.
"Makes a change to last night," she chuckled as she worked on his back.
"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to turn around, but she stopped him.
"Last night, in bed, you were telling me all sorts of things..." she said. "Made me lots of offers."
"No, I didn't," he said, "did I?" he asked, not daring to look at her.
"Yep," she said nodding.
"What did I say?" he asked, not really wanting to know but needing to.
"Well, let's just say you falling asleep on me wasn't the activity you had in mind," she said laughing once more.
"Oh god, I propositioned you?" he asked spinning around, horrified. "I am so, so sorry."
"Don't be, I'm not," she said, patting his cheek. "I thought it was very cute actually," she added, causing Harm to blush profusely.

Thanks for reading AND reviewing.