Clinton Jones was zoned out all morning, looking around in the office, trying to find someone who still wasn't at his desk. He was caught by surprise when a big stack of files dropped affront of him. He startled and noticed a smirk on Diana's face.

"Agent Jones. What's going on inside that big head of yours?" she asked with a teasing flare in her tone. Jones smiled back and relaxed almost immediately. As he hung back in his chair he nodded at Neal's empty desk.

"Notice something?" he asked her. Diana straightened her back as she folded her arms around her chest.

"Yeah. 'Boss said Caffrey called earlier that he was coming in later because he was pretty occupied with babysitting June's Granddaughter."

Jones nodded as a frown grew on his forehead. Thinking back at his weird dream he had last night.

"The one with the new kidney?"

"Yup, that's the one. Apparently, she was running a slight fever this morning and Caffrey promised to watch her until June was back with some medicine." That raised his eyebrows in wonder.

"Neal, babysitting. That's something else."

"Yeah, I agree. But he isn't bad with children, though. I saw him talking too Marge's son once." Jones nodded. "Marge, from 20th floor? The callers deck Marge? Does she have a son? I didn't know that. She looks so young."

"That's why I get on the tougher cases and you got stuck with that stupid Van all the time," Diana teased and gave him a friendly slap on his shoulder. Clinton snorted and watched how Diana left his desk to get some of her own work done.

It was a quiet morning. Sure, there was always some paperwork going around but it was funny how empty the new cases files rack was. That almost never happened.

But that wasn't the weirdest part.

Clinton woke up this morning with a weird feeling that something was going to happen. He wasn't a superstitious guy. And remembering dreams wasn't his thing too. But what he dreamt this morning before he got up for work was so real and different like the others, that it nearly scared him. So that was why he acted this way. It was kind of understandable that he linked his suspicious about this day to Neal Caffrey. Because… well… first off: All the trouble had something to do with that guy, lately. And second; He dreamt about him. He wasn't sure why or how this happened. But it just did. There were stories going around about people dreaming about friends to warn them about a plane crash or car accident. But this was much stranger than anything else. And he was afraid that if he didn't tell this to anyone, Neal would be getting into trouble.

But still… Chickens? What the hell was that all about?

About one hour later, and still no sign from Neal, Clinton emptied his cup of coffee and walked towards Peter's office. Some sweat was forming on his forehead. He knocked twice and then opened the door. Peter was standing at the window with a phone in his hand. Like if he just ended a call with his wife because he was still smiling affable. He put the phone back in his pocket and nodded at him in a friendly way.

"Morning Jones, come on in. I didn't see you this morning. Guess you were out for a coffee or something. So, any news on the Hagel case, yet?"

The Hagel case was a typical case. Every now and then a rich old man or lady contacted the white collar division with the accusation that the inherited family jewels were swapped for a forged one. Since Caffrey worked here this kind of cases where solved in a day or two. Because, the guy always could tell in a swift if it was a fake and who was the maker of the forgery. But this case wasn't on his mind now. He had something else on his mind that he felt like sharing, before it was too late.

"No not at the moment. But, Peter. Did you hear anything from Caffrey yet? Maybe I am getting paranoid but I have the slightest feeling something is wrong." Normally, Peter would make a joke out of this but to Clinton's surprise his boss was suddenly very serious and almost ran to his computer to see what the tracker signal was telling them. "Neal. Damned. He was very convincing this morning. He sounded so worried about that kid. I believed him," Peter murmured almost angry at himself to be fooled that easy. Jones frowned at Peter's reaction, because he knew Peter was always on the edge when it came to Neal. The name Neal Caffrey was like a trigger inside his head. And it made Clinton a bit uneasy. What if something was wrong…

But, seeing the relief in Peter's face when he located the man in question, Jones felt the urge to sigh deeply.

"He is still at home. My God, Jones. You scared the hell out of me. What made you so sure that Neal was up to something?" Clinton shrugged his shoulders and laughed a bit embarrassed about what he was about to say.

"I dreamt something." He scratched the back of his head as he looked at his own leader shoes. There was an awkward silence between the two of them. But to Peter's credit he didn't laugh at him. Instead he was very curious. "Well, then tell me what you dreamt," Peter just said as he leans with his back into his desk as he crossed his arms. First Clinton laughed then shook his head. But seeing the honesty in Peter's eyes he nodded and tried to form his words.

"I saw blue and red lights and a gurney. Neal was on it. He didn't look injured but his face was deadly pale and… then I saw some chicks flapping around him. I swear I didn't make this up! But it felt so strange and I am feeling antsy all morning." Peter pulled an eyeball at him. "Chicks?" he repeated a little dazed.

"Chickens, Peter. With the feathers and stuff. And I know it sounds crazy, man. But… it's Neal." Again, with saying that name, Peter's eyes sparkled with something dark. Without any words he took his phone and to their surprises, it rang on its own. With a strange look on Peter's face he punched the call on speaker.

"Neal." he said firmly. Like he always did, by the way.

"Peter. I just took a cab and headed on my way to you. Sorry it took a while but the kid is fine. June is taking good care of her." Neal sounded quite normal to them and Clinton felt stupid for telling Peter about his Chicken-induced dream.

A few days later Neal, again, wasn't at his desk all morning. Jones noticed it right away but didn't dare to ask Peter or Diana what was going on. Because the both of them already made fun of him during a long stakeout night. Even though Peter would never insult his trust like that, normally, he knew it was the Van-craziness talking. It happens to anyone who spend a whole night in it. No biggy. He would do the same.

But then, suddenly, Peter came barging towards his desk with a stern face. "Neal doesn't pick up his phone and he hasn't left his apartment. Care to drive with me? I think something is wrong." He nodded and started to gather his things. Diana got some orders to watch his deskphone for a while until he and Clinton were back. Then they both left in a hurry.

By the time they arrived at Neal's apartment they already had some contact with the ex-conman. But his words kept slurring all together and he sounded very sick. Peter unlocked Neal's door with a spare key he got from June, because Neal told him over the phone that he couldn't get to his feet.

As soon as they found the younger man sprawled out in his bed they startled at the sight of a deadly pale face, covered with little red dots. "chicken-pox," Clinton mumbled and figured it all out. That was where the chicks came in.

"Yeah, it sure looks like that. Cute... Hey? Are you okay, Neal?" Peter felt the man's forehead, while finding out that he was throwing off heat waves. One of Neal's hand was folded on his stomach as the other one was still clutched the sell-phone. The poor guy was pretty out of it. He looked so lost to the sick feeling he probably almost never had.

"Pet'r… I feel so… Warm… Burns! Look at my arms…T-there are w-worms crawling u-under my skin…" He started to scratch and Peter saw that he had already done some damage to his other arm and bare chest. His whole body was covered in little red dots and that made him wonder.

"Neal… you never had a shot for this when you were a child?" Neal shook his head and fought the urge to scratch his face, because it would leave some scars. In the meantime, Jones was making himself busy with collecting some of the stuff that would help Neal against the burning itch. He ended up walking downstairs to ask the old landlady for oatmeal and started making his anti-itch serum, that his mother used to make. By the time he was done, Peter had finally stripped the weak looking conman, until his boxer of course, to help him get rid of the heat. He already placed some wet towels on his forehead, ankles and arms. But now that Clinton was done making his serum he started to smear his chest. It smelled realy bad and Neal started to squirm. At this point, Neal was getting a bit more aware of what was happening and shot an annoyed look to both of the agents.

"What are you doing?" he asked directly at Jones. He was about to come off his pillow to feverishly smack the wooden spoon away from his bare chest, until Peter had pushed him back down. The wet washcloth fell of his head in the proses.

"Calm down, kid. We are trying to give you some relief. Let Clinton do his thing and stay down, while I call for a doctor."

"N-not gonna happen," Neal slurred and managed to get himself in a sitting position. Sweat was literally falling from his pale red-doted body.


AN: review maybe? ^^

X

Josie