Rating: Gen
Notes: Closest thing to flashfic I've written in a while, completed over about 2 hours and unbeta'd. All mistakes are glaringly mine. Amnesty fill for Cotton Candy bingo square: Cough
Prompt: fic-promptly; Any, any, sick day
Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.
Written: 1/2013
Fin groaned, managing open one eye when he heard the scratch of a key in the door and then pulled his pillow from behind his head when John swung open the door with a big grocery sack.
He'd been camped out in the armchair since he woke up shortly after the sun came up and he couldn't breathe lying down. Despite Olivia's suggestion that he'd called out sick after a 'raging kegger', John made the effort of leaving early and making a run the market for necessary provisions.
"I never gave you a key to my apartment," Fin groaned, lifting the edge of the pillow.
"No, you didn't," John admitted on the way to the kitchen. "I made a copy about three years ago."
"That's illegal. Theft, trespassing…"
"Arrest me." John rolled his eyes, looking back over his shoulder as Fin once more tucked the pillow back under his head and tugged his blanket up higher. "Besides, Elliot and Olivia swapped keys and they're not even sleeping together."
"What makes you so sure of that?" Fin turned his head into his elbow and coughed hard.
John half-chuckled, taking a fresh box of aloe tissues from the bag he'd deposited on the table and brought it over with a bottle of cold medicine. "She's not pregnant yet."
A hint of a smile crossed Fin's lips before he turned away again to sneeze. "Might wanna take your bony ass outta here, John. I've got the plague."
Shaking his head, John only closed the distance between him and pressed an open palm against Fin's forehead and then his neck. "It's a cold," he replied, and then cracked open the medicine to pour out a dose.
"What, now you think you gotta come mother me? I'll be fine in a couple days."
Heading back to the kitchen, John started unloading the back before he answered. Fresh chicken stock, garlic, orange juice. "You know, you should be so lucky to have a partner that's willing to take care of you."
"Hey!" Fin protested weakly, "I took care of you, man. I did what I could."
"You sent a bike courier with leftover curry and a stack of files while I was vomiting so violently I could barely move."
"Out of love…" Fin sneezed again, holding the tissue against his nose in case another wave hit him. "I was on a stakeout; you know I couldn't get away."
"Mmmhmm, remember that next time you're laughing at my misfortune when I have to take a sick day." John said; "I didn't know if you like pulp in your juice or not, so I got both kinds."
"I don't drink juice."
"Maybe if you did, you wouldn't be here doing NyQuil shots with a Tropicana chaser." John made quick work of locating the only pot in the apartment and dumping in the rendered chicken fat and stock cut with a couple cans of the cheap stuff. "I don't suppose you have a garlic press?"
"What do you think?"
"I was leaning toward somewhere between a 'Hell no' and 'Check the junk drawer' personally." Satisfied with an off-balance butcher knife to do the deed, he went about starting the base with little fight.
"You don't have to do this, you know?" Fin sighed when John finally returned to him, tucking his blanket tighter into the sides of the recliner after offering a glass of juice – no pulp – that he reluctantly drank.
John shrugged, settling into a chair he'd pulled from the kitchen to be close. "My partner's sick, if I don't come bearing Jewish penicillin, who will?" He offered another tissue, already seeing the glassy pre-sneeze wetness of Fin's eyes.
After wiping his nose, Fin shot back; "I'm a grown man, I think I can handle a little cold."
He waited for another hard coughing fit before answering; "Want some mint tea?"
Frowning, Fin nodded.
"Just relax; I've got this under control. You'll be back on the clock in no time."
Fin sighed, nestling down into the chair to snooze until he felt John's broad hand squeeze his forearm. He opened his eyes, not shocked to see him once more in his chair, idly crunching a handful something that looked like it came out of the bottom of a roasting pan. "How long have you been sittin' there?"
"About an hour," John shrugged; "I tried to find a book and came up with a dusty set of encyclopedias from 1995." He held out a tissue, waiting for Fin to finish blowing his nose before adding; "Do you want your tea before or after the first round of soup?"
"First round?" He cocked an achy eyebrow, "How much did you make?"
"What'd you grow up in a hole? Soup isn't exactly the sort of thing you make for a lunch… not real soup. You should be finishing the batch about the time you come back to work, assuming you follow the standard procedure Oma-approved dosage schedule of every two hours."
"You're kidding me."
John pushed up out of the chair and made his way to the kitchen to pour the rich, garlicky broth into a large coffee mug – floating a matzo ball before wiping the excess off the rim. "Got a call about twenty minutes ago, dead body on the East side."
"Pro?"
"I wish." John frowned, dropping the topic – he'd be filled in soon enough. "I'll check in on you after getting the details."
Fin echoed the frown, knowing full and well that meant it was a kid. Sniffing at the mug when it was pressed into his hands, he took a sip before John could slip away – showing his approval if nothing else. "I'll be alright, go get the bastard."
A small, faint smile creased John's lips and he bent over his partner, pressing a kiss against his forehead. "I'll do my best. You get some rest, alright? Don't worry about work."
Fin nodded, turning the ball over with his spoon before taking another sip. When John headed toward the door, he muttered; "Thank you."