A/N: I have this obsession with writing these days. It might have something to do with finding any excuse to avoid studying :P I give you another random One-shot. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

" I'm gonna die."

"Stop being so melo-dramatic."

"I'm serious, Neal. I'm going to die."

"For the last time, Moz. No. You. Are. Not. Dying."

"You're under estimating the seriousness of the situation, Neal!"

"And you're over estimating the Common cold!" Neal let out an exasperated sigh, as he guided the shorter man to his bed and gently pushed him down.

After tucking the still grumbling paranoid man in his bed, Neal made his way into the kitchen. He pressed speed dial 3 as he placed a sauce pan on the stove.

"Hi Neal! You're coming over for dinner tonight, right? Could you do me a favor and bring the wine?" El's cheerful voice came from the phone's receiver.

"Hey El. Actually, that's why I called. I won't be able to make it tonight." Neal replied, holding the phone between his head and shoulder as he poured a can of soup in the sauce pan and lit the stove, adding a pinch of salt as he stirred. Multi-tasking was his forte, after all.

"You can't come? Is everything alright?" concern laced her voice.

"He's not coming? That man will do anything to avoid watching a game with me! Tell him he can help you cook while I watch the game if that's what he prefers."

Neal smirked as he heard his partner's voice in the background and his wife hushing him in annoyance.

"Everything is fine with me. Moz has a cold and he's staying over till he feels better."

"I'm dying and nobody cares!" Mozzie shouted, annoyed that no one was taking him seriously.

"Oh, that's awful. Poor Moz!"

"So, rain check?" He asked hopefully, chopping fresh garlic leaves and adding it to the soup.

"Sure thing. Do you need any help?"

"I'm fine. Just trying to convince Mr. Paranoid here that he isn't dying of hemorrhagic fever." Neal joked, shooting Mozzie an amused look.

"Alright then, do you mind if we come over? I'm nearly done with the cooking and the point of fancy food is wasted on Peter. I need your palette for this."

"That would be great, if you can drag Mr. grumpy from in front of the TV."

"Leave that to me." El said confidently and hung up.

Neal smiled to himself as he poured the steaming soup into a bowl and placed it on a tray. He carried the remedy for what Mozzie deemed a life threatening disease to his friend and placed it in his friends lap.

"Eat. I can guarantee you'll feel better." Neal nodded towards the hot soup.

Mozzie dipped the spoon in the soup and brought it near his mouth, and to Neal's shock he sniffed it skeptically- a rather dog-like action which reminded him of Satmo.

"It's not poisoned Moz." He was trying hard to suppress the urge to face-palm.

"It isn't what comes in the can either. You added something."

"I added salt and a few herbs, Mozzie. It brings out the flavor." Neal couldn't resist rolling his eyes to his friends' paranoia.

"Oh, all right then."

Neal busied himself alternately tapping his phone and observing his friend as he ate the soup rather eagerly. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. He was capable of making bland canned soup taste good. If that wasn't an accomplishment, he didn't know what was. The cooking classes he had taken in Paris all those years ago were totally worth it. Maybe he would host a dinner; he knew the perfect wine to go with all sorts of fancy dishes. Another advantage of those classes.

A knock interrupted his musings and he stood up to answer the door.

"If that's June, tell her how sick I am and that she shouldn't come near me. She'll catch whatever I have and die a slow painful death and I can't do that to her." Mozzie informed the taller man.

"I'm touched that you don't care if I die from your disease, Moz." Neal shook his head in exasperation as he opened the door.

"Hey Neal!"

"Tell me you have sports channels on your TV!"

"Hi El! Knock yourself out Peter."

"Neal! You called the suit?"

"Moz, how are you feeling sweetie?" El said, staring to fuss over the elder con leaving Neal to take out the food from the Tupperware boxes she had handed to him.

"I'm dying and nobody cares." Mozzie pouted- his lower lip jutting out as he gazed defiantly across the room a t Neal. And Neal couldn't help it, he burst out laughing.

"Moz, it's just a cold! Everyone gets it! Stop whining!" Neal said chuckling as he set the table.

"If I'm not mistaken, I've repeatedly seen you whine like a little girl whenever you get a paper cut." Peter added his two cents as Neal glared at him.

"Hey, don't look at me like that, Caffery! I remember the ruckus you created when you got a splinter stuck in your thumb." Peter added, making Neal blush in embarrassment as the others laughed.

It was Neal's turn to pout, making everyone laugh even harder.

"Food is served." The blue-eyed con-man announced.

"Stop sulking, kiddo."

"I'm not sulking." Neal's lower lip was jutting out once again, and it instantly transformed the 34 year old into a physically over grown five year old.

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"I. Am Not. Sulking."

"I hate to take the suits side on this, mon-frere. But you are sulking." Moz helpfully told the scowling man as he and El made their way to the table.

"Hush now, enough of that. Stop bothering him." El couldn't help the motherly tone in her voice; Neal shot her a grateful smile.

"Fine, fine. No one can argue with you, hon." Peter grinned as he looked at his wife sitting across his seat at the table, stopping to ruffle his partners hair before he sat down.

Neal fixed his hair as he grumbled in fake-annoyance. He couldn't help the fond smile that curved his lips upwards as he sat.

Neal grinned happily as he looked around. His best friend was sitting next to him. His partner in crime and other best friend was sitting across him and the woman he turned to for emotional advice sitting diagonally from him. An odd set of people who had come to love and mutually respect each other. His odd but wonderful family.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review!