This is a bit silly, but it was inspired by Cal's refusal to take the day off after what happened with Taylor.

Cal flopped down onto the sofa and put both hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his coughs. His head was aching, his nose was starting to run and he wasn't sure how he was ever going to stand up again. He hated taking days off work and had been known to go even when last night's drinking session had left an entire nightclub pounding in his head, but luckily he didn't get ill all that often, or not to the extent where he needed to stay at home.

The worst thing about being ill as far as Cal was concerned was usually the moment when he realised that even though he knew he could cope physically with a night out, he was too ill to subject anyone else to his germs and therefore was condemned to spending the night alone.

But now, the thought of a night out was far from his mind. He wasn't at all sure he could get through the next five minutes and even the idea of going to work made him feel as though he needed to lie down.

Maybe it was time to admit the truth to himself. He wasn't well enough to work and it wasn't as though his patients were going to appreciate the fact he'd dragged himself out of bed to save their lives. They'd be too busy moving their chairs as far from him as possible and plotting miraculous recoveries so they could escape before the germy doctor sneezed again.

Cal had to admit it was a relief to have made that decision. No patients; no big decisions; no worrying about whether he was going to faint or calculating how long it was till he could dope himself up with more medication. He would just go back to bed and go back to sleep, and hope he'd be feeling better tomorrow.

They could manage without him for one day.

Ethan came out of the bathroom and went in search of his brother. He'd guessed from the aggressive way Cal had insisted he was fine last night that he was actually feeling pretty terrible, and he wasn't expecting him to feel any better this morning.

His suspicions were only confirmed when he found the pile of cold meds next to Cal's wallet. Paracetamol, nasal spray, decongestants, cough sweets, throat spray… Cal was probably better-stocked than the hospital pharmacy.

Ethan followed a trail of used tissues (Connie would go spare if Cal started dropping those all over the hospital) and discovered Cal curled up on the sofa with his eyes closed. This was another bad sign. Cal didn't like Ethan seeing him like that and he almost always made some attempt at looking completely healthy.

At first, Ethan thought Cal was asleep, but then he started sniffing.

Ethan knelt down beside him and put his hand on his shoulder. "Caleb?"

Cal's only answer was a violent sneeze followed by a series of coughs which he chose to stifle in a cushion. Ethan shook his head at this complete lack of hygiene and went to find him some tissues. Cal had left the box on the draining board beside the plate he'd washed up. Ethan thought grimly that Cal really wasn't himself if he was voluntarily washing up. Cal thought washing up was something you did when you'd run out of plates.

When Ethan returned, Cal was still lying down. Ethan knelt down beside him again. "Here you are, Cal. I thought you might need these. I'll come back at lunchtime to see how you are."

"What?" Cal sat up and sniffed. "What are you talking about?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood up, knocking the tissues to the floor. He looked down at Ethan, who was still kneeling. "Are you ready to go or do I have to go without you?"

Ethan considered screaming. "Caleb, you're not thinking of going to work."

"Why wouldn't I go to work?" said Cal.

"You're not well enough," said Ethan. He stood up. "You're contagious and I can tell you feel awful. Stop being so stubborn and go to bed."

"There's nothing wrong with me," said Cal. He turned away and sneezed. "You just need to dust more, that's all."

Ethan just about managed to stop himself from throwing the tissues at Cal's head.

Cal hoped he'd start to feel better soon. Even being driven by Ethan was exhausting, though that was probably partly because Ethan had spent the whole time telling him how much better he'd feel if he was at home in bed.

"Cal, it is okay to take the day off when you're ill," Ethan was saying. He was being quite kind about it, but that only made it more annoying. "Everyone will understand."

Cal was resting his forehead against the car window in an attempt to ease his headache. The more Ethan talked about bed, the more he longed to be in it (and for once, he wanted to be alone in it), but he was determined not to give in.

He wasn't completely sure why he was determined not to give in, but he'd given up on working out why because thinking was bad for his headache.

"Everyone takes days off when they're ill," Ethan said as he parked the car. "You always insist that I take the day off when I'm ill."

"I'm not as ill as you were," said Cal. "And I've taken some medication so I'll be even better soon. I haven't sneezed for ages."

Ethan put his hand on his arm. "Okay. Let's see how you go. But if you feel worse…"

"I'm not going to feel worse," said Cal. He was trying to convince himself as well as Ethan. "I don't feel that bad anyway. I'm fine."

He sneezed.

"Everyone sneezes sometimes," he said defiantly as he got out of the car.