Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply. For Tess 4 5 who wanted a fluffy piece of nonsense to cheer her up. Mind you that was a week ago, so she is probably better now! ;)

"Do you have fleas?"

"No!"

"Then why are you scratching like a feral dog on a tip in the midday sun?" Tommy Lynley shot his sergeant an exasperated look. For the last fifteen minutes, she had been rasping at her skin like a madwoman. "Are you allergic to something we ate at lunchtime?"

Barbara Havers scratched at her stomach. The itch was unbearable. "I'm allergic to poncy lords who have no sympathy for the suffering of their colleagues."

"Hmmph."

"I think I've got hives," she announced.

"Do you get them often?"

"Once, when I was about nine and ate some persimmons."

Tommy rolled his eyes. The woman was impossible when she was in one of these moods. "Do you have spots?"

"Well I can't really check in the car, can I? Oooooh!"

"Stop it. You're only making it worse."

Barbara made a conscious effort not to run her nails over her stomach and chest. She tried taking a few deep breaths. Then her head started to itch. She rubbed her fingers through her hair and groaned.

Tommy was disturbed by the sound of her pleasure. Out of context, he imagined his hands eliciting that sound. He really should stop thinking of her that way. "Barbara!"

"Sorry but that feels good."

"I think I should drop you off at your doctors."

"No, he's gone to Spain for three weeks, and I've been to his locum before. I don't like her. I'll take an antihistamine and a cool bath when I get in. Why is it so hot in this car?"

"It's not particularly." They were stopped at traffic lights so Tommy took a minute to study her. She looked flushed. Several red patches were developing on her skin. "They're on your face too."

Her fingertips probed her forehead then her cheeks. "Bloody hell." She started to feel the first prickling tingles.

"Don't scratch your face; you might leave scars." The spots were rising quickly into angry, red welts.

"Scars?" Barbara grabbed the rear view mirror and swung it around to look. "What the hell?"

"Hey, I use that so we don't have an accident. Give me my mirror back." Tommy had to put his hand over hers to reposition his mirror. They both hastily pulled away.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"No harm done," he replied, not taking his eyes off the road.

The streets choked up as they neared London. Barbara kept wriggling and scratching, and Tommy began to itch in sympathy. "This traffic is impossible." He swung the car north and began to weave through the back streets.

"Rat-running? Where are we going?"

"To my place. My neighbour is a doctor. I'll get him to examine you. Hopefully, he can prescribe something for us."

"Us?"

"Some of your fleas have jumped ship," he replied brusquely as he surreptitiously rubbed his forearm over his steering wheel. He was determined not scratch after lecturing her.

"I do not have fleas!" Barbara folded her arms and stared straight ahead not noticing Tommy's lips curl into a small smile.

Twenty minutes later Tommy pulled gratefully into the kerb in front of his house. Any longer in the car and he would have gone mad. When Barbara tried to get out of the car, her legs crumbled and she fell against the door. "Barbara! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just felt a bit dizzy." Tommy put his arm around her waist to steady her. As much as she enjoyed his proximity, she was mortified by being so close to him. She shoved him away. "I'm fine!" She took one step then fainted.

As he bristled at her rejection, Tommy did not notice her crumple until it was almost too late. He caught her a few inches from the footpath. Half-carrying, half-dragging he managed to get her to the door. She slowly regained consciousness as he struggled to pull his key from his pocket.

"May I be of assistance, Tommy?"

"Thank you, Patrick. I was going to call you. This is my partner, Barbara. She has a fever, is itchy and just fainted as she stepped from the car."

Patrick was a slight man with circular, green-rimmed glasses and wild eyebrows which Tommy always supposed made up for his baldness. In his tweed jacket and copper coloured trousers, he looked like a mad professor. He was a doctor at a local clinic and had a reputation amongst his patients for eccentric outbursts of opera sung in a toneless tenor. "We should get her inside old boy before the neighbours think you're given her roofies." His accompanying chortle did nothing to alleviate Tommy's growing annoyance.

"Patrick! If you knew how serious a problem that was these days you wouldn't joke about it!"

They managed to get Barbara through the door. "Who are you? Tell me you're not God. You look like the Mad Hatter without his hat."

Now Tommy did smile. Patrick aligned himself in Barbara's vision and reassured her, "no my dear; I am most certainly not God."

"Good," she replied weakly, "he wouldn't be bald."

The amused medic laughed with a demented tone that did nothing to reassure the police officers. "I'll fetch my bag. Find her somewhere to lie down and give her some water."

Tommy grumbled about being left to carry a struggling woman upstairs alone, but Barbara managed to walk with his support. He was surprised when she happily tumbled onto his bed. He removed her shoes, but she refused to release her jacket. "I'm cold!" To emphasise it her teeth started to chatter.

"If you take off your jacket you can get under the blankets."

Barbara snorted but allowed him to pull it off her arms. He covered her with his bedding and then went to find a glass to give her some water. He was just heading back upstairs when Patrick knocked. "When did this start?"

"She started scratching about two hours ago as we drove back from Norwich. It got much worse, and she complained about being hot about forty minutes ago."

Patrick raised his black bag towards Tommy. "Well never fear, Doctor Pat is here!"

Tommy was beginning to wish he had phoned his own doctor to attend. He led Patrick to his bedroom. "Right, Barbara is it? How are we feeling."

"I'm itchy all over and hot and cold. I feel woozy if I move my head too fast."

Patrick began a thorough and professional examination. He even pulled a magnifying glass from his bag to inspect her welts. "Chicken pox," he announced somberly.

"Chicken pox? But that's a child's disease!" Barbara exclaimed in dismay, "besides I had it as a kid. I should be immune."

Tommy smirked at her indignance. "I didn't, but I think I was vaccinated."

Patrick looked at him and then Barbara. "Was it mild or severe?"

"Mild I think but I missed school for a fortnight."

"Well, then, it most likely did not trigger your immune system sufficiently. Tommy, at your age you were definitely not vaccinated. So, if you haven't had them you almost certainly will get them. Do you have any symptoms?"

"I'm a bit itchy, but I assumed that was psychosomatic because Barbara was scratching."

Patrick frowned then smiled as if talking to a ten-year-old. "Lift up your shirt."

"This is silly," Tommy protested. Under the doctor's stern gaze he reluctantly pulled it from his trousers.

The doctor took one look and nodded. "You have them too."

"I caught them from Barbara?"

"Unlikely. It is more likely you both caught them from someone about two weeks ago."

Tommy and Barbara looked at each other. "Maybe that family trafficked from Romania?" she suggested, "their daughter was scratching."

"Quite likely," Patrick replied as he packed away his stethoscope. "The old cures are still the best. Painkillers and calamine lotion."

"Can you still buy that? I'll get some on my way home."

"Home? Oh no dear, you have to stay here. I'm putting you both under quarantine for a week."

"Quarantine?" Tommy was aghast. Not only would they miss work but he was not sure how he could live under the same roof as Barbara for a week without revealing some hint of his feelings for her.

"We can't have you loose in the community."

"I'll take a cab and go home and stay there."

"And give it to the cab driver who is probably from overseas and not immune and he will pass it to others. No, I'm sorry. You're too big a risk."

"No, I can't stay here. I haven't got things I need. I have to go home."

Patrick smiled patronisingly at her. "I think I understand my dear. I have sample packets in my bag. Which Pill do you use?"

"Pill?" Barbara was confused, "oh no! No, no, it's not that. We're not...no!"

Patrick looked confused. "I'm sorry, you said she was your partner."

Tommy's face had gone the colour of an over-ripe tomato. "She's my partner at work. We're not...lovers."

"Ah! I'm sorry my dear. I was surprised; you're not really his type are you?"

Barbara looked down. Tommy felt the need to defend her. "Barbara is too sensible to get involved with me."

"Yes, you do like them leggy and vacuous."

"Thank you, Patrick. I'm sure Barbara is not interested in my sex life." He gave the doctor a dark look of warning.

"Don't worry dear," Patrick said to her, "I'll bring some calamine over shortly. The week will go quickly."

Tommy saw him out and waited for him to return. He did not want to face Barbara. When he eventually went back to the room, she was sitting on the edge of the bed lacing up her shoes. "You heard Patrick; you can't leave."

"I can and I will. I can't stay here in your...bed!"

"I wish you would."

Barbara's head shot up, and she gave him a savage stare. "I'm not leggy enough."

"No! Not like that." She did not react, but he saw her eyes cloud. He had insulted her. Tommy had not wanted her to leave, but he had not meant anything sexual by it which is why he responded so fiercely. Why did everyone assume his life revolved around bedding women? He had simply wanted to suggest she stay, not that he wanted to occupy the same bed, although he did. It was clumsy and foolish and now threatened everything.

"I know that! It was my poor attempt at humour," she said trying hard to pretend it was all meaningless banter, "I should get going."

Tommy tried reason; she responded well to reason. "No, stay. Please. If we both have to be quarantined it has to be more fun with company than alone. We can still direct the case by talking to Winston. I can stay in the spare room. Or you can if you'd prefer. Don't go. There's no one I'd rather be locked in a house with for a week. We'll go insane by ourselves."

Barbara wavered. He was right about it being less lonely with company, but she was not sure they could survive a week under the same roof. She weighed it up and against her better judgement, relented. "Okay, I'll stay tonight. We can reassess tomorrow. I'll take the spare room, but I have no clothes."

"What about one of my old tee-shirts tonight? Tomorrow I'll send someone around to your place." Tommy opened his dresser and pulled out a faded blue shirt. "Here, this one should work. Come and I'll show you to your room then I'll ring Winston and explain."

An hour later he knocked lightly on her door. "Barbara?"

"Come in, Sir,"

He entered the room and smiled. Barbara was standing against the doorframe of the open ensuite door rubbing her back like an old elephant on a thorn tree. Her face, legs and arms were covered in red lumps shining through a haze of dried pink powder. She looked both ill and adorably cute. "Has the calamine helped?"

"A bit. It's mainly my back that's on fire. I can't reach the spots there."

"Would you like me to do them?"

Their eyes became entangled in a fierce debate. Yes, she wanted the itching to stop. No, she did not want him to see her naked back. Yes, they were friends and friends would help. Yes, she was being driven mad. No, it was not a good idea for their relationship.

"Probably not Wise, Sir."

"Barbara, we're friends aren't we?"

"Sorta."

"Then take off the tee-shirt and lie down. I'll come back in three minutes."

Tommy fled the room. After their earlier misunderstanding, he wanted to behave correctly. When he returned she was facedown on the bed with the covers pulled up around her hips. Her back was smooth and unblemished except for the red pox. He had imagined her to be freckly and less curvy. It had been her mind he had wanted to make love to, but now his first thought was to run a line of kisses down her spine. "Right," he said, "you certainly have a lot. This might take some time."

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" she asked after the first few dabs of the cold, lotion-soaked cottonwool.

Tommy stopped his ministrations. He had been coating the dots to spell out 'I luv u'. It was a teenagerish game but now he wondered if she had felt the pattern. "Why do you say that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Me, needing you to do something for me."

"Yes, I do enjoy that aspect, but I know how itchy you are. My spots haven't come up much yet, but I might need you to reciprocate."

Now Barbara was worried. She had seen his naked torso a few times but to be able to touch it. She was not sure she could do that. "Okay, seems fair," she managed in an even tone. She hoped she had disguised her desires and her fears. This was going to be a long week.

Tommy took his time. He watched her face which was turned to the side of the bed he was sitting on. Her eyes were closed, and she looked contented. It was a look he would like to see on the pillow beside him after a torrid session of lovemaking. He pushed the covers a little lower. Disappointingly, but unsurprisingly, she had left her underpants on. He sighed but was glad. He seriously doubted he could remain the gentlemen he wanted to be for the whole week. Then again, was telling someone you loved them a bad thing?

"If there's too many just do the ones that look itchy."

Tommy laughed softly. "And which ones would they be? No, I was just thinking that this is...nice."

"Nice? You think being driven mad by chicken pox itches is nice?"

"No, of course not. But it makes the world slow down. Just the two of us with several hundred spots."

"You must be very lonely if you crave the company of a communicable disease."

"I was thinking more of you." Tommy shook the bottle and applied the lotion to the last half dozen spots.

"Me? You think I like them?"

"Stop wriggling. I meant I like your company."

"Sir, if you want my company, just ask. We don't have to go through this routine. Oh yeah...just there!"

Tommy smiled to himself. He wanted to hear more of that reaction. He would take her up on that offer when they were well. "There you go, all finished."

"Thank you, Sir. They do feel better."

"I'm glad. We'll need more of this lotion tomorrow. Sleep well Barbara and if you need me, just call or come over. You know where my room is. I'll leave the doors open."

"Night Sir, and thanks again."

Barbara turned slightly towards him, lifting her chest slightly off the sheet. He stood quickly knowing that if he did not leave now, he would kiss her. "Goodnight Barbara."

Tommy slept fitfully. He had a headache and felt vaguely nauseous but what kept him awake was the image of Barbara on the bed and the faint smell of her on his pillow. He could not think of a way to casually, or formally, mention his feelings for her without seeming predatory. Patrick had done a wonderful job of making him sound like Cassanova on viagra. No matter which way he approached it, Barbara would never believe he had fallen for her. It drove him mad because this week together would be perfect to adjust to each other. He could wait until they were better for anything overly physical but nursing each other offered so many opportunities for them to learn about each other's bodies and living habits. Tommy thought about what it would be like to have her apply calamine to him or to trust him enough to apply the lotion to more than her back. He thought about her curled against him and what it would be like to nestle his face between those gloriously heavy breasts. He was anxious, frustrated, aroused, ashamed and angry.

Barbara woke about four o'clock with a raging thirst. She padded gently down the hall and found the stairs. She tried to be quiet as she crept around in the dark. She felt the wall at the bottom and eventually found the light for the hall.

The fridge was full of food. Eggs and bacon looked tempting for breakfast. Or perhaps some of the fresh fruit. It was different to her near empty fridge that rarely held more than milk, some butter and leftover take aways. Barbara was not hungry so studied Tommy's collection of beer. She selected a lager and opened the can. She drank it in one go and gave a satisfied burp.

"Charming."

Barbara squealed and jumped. "You scared me!"

Tommy sauntered into the kitchen. "So it seems," he replied grabbing a beer. "Want another one?"

"Thanks."

Tommy leant against the sink watching Barbara, who was sitting on one of his stool behind the island bench. She was looking down and tracing patterns on the black granite counter top. "Sorry, I woke you, Sir."

"You didn't. I couldn't sleep."

"Me either really."

"Too itchy?"

"Too many things on my mind."

Tommy moved over and put his elbows on the bench in front of her. "Why? What's troubling you?"

"If you couldn't sleep either, what's troubling you?"

"That's avoiding my question, Barbara."

"I know. It's complicated." How could she tell him she was struggling being confined in a house for a week with him?

"I'm good with complicated. It's simple things I struggle with; like how not to scratch when your back is on fire."

"Now that I can help with if you want to fetch the calamine."

"Not in the kitchen."

Barbara nodded and grabbed another beer from the fridge despite Tommy's concerned look. "Thought it might help me sleep."

He gestured for her to go ahead of him. They climbed the stairs and went straight to his bedroom. Tommy took off his robe and sat on the bed. Barbara took a deep breath. The room was lit by his bedside lamp which was turned low. He had silky boxers on and she smiled at the motif of little devils. He lay face down in the middle of his large bed. His body sank into the soft white linen. Barbara took a deep breath then sat beside him. She had to kneel on the bed to reach him. "You've got a lot less than me."

"They're still itchy," he said to ensure she did not leave. "Start with the ones on my ankles and work your way up.

She had just enough light to see the spots as she began to systematically dab them. She did not hurry, nor did she dally. She pretended it was someone else. "Better?" she asked as she moved to his back.

"Mmm."

Neither spoke again as she carefully placed the lotion on each spot. Although it cooled, tiny brushes from her hand burned like hot coals. Tommy was very glad he was face down. After about ten agonisingly glorious minutes she spoke. "Roll over and I'll do your front."

Tommy had a dilemma. "Close your eyes."

Barbara clamped them shut. She heard him rustling. He had moved to the other side of the bed. She opened her eyes to see him propped up against the bedhead, pulling up the covers over his waist. She smiled at his shyness then realised what might have happened. She ignored it and began to move around the bed.

Tommy closed his eyes and tried to relax. She was slower now. He opened his eyes to see her watching him. "Barbara?"

"Sorry. I was miles away."

"That's fine. If you'd rather not, I could do the front myself," he admitted.

"No need. I don't mind." Barbara could not tell him what she had been thinking.

He shifted uncomfortably. His body was betraying his desires. Every touch felt far too sensual. "They don't mean anything, Barbara."

"What?"

"The leggy, vacuous women Patrick mentioned. It was only a few, and I stopped. It was no more help than the whiskey."

"None of my business. I don't judge."

"I know, but I want you to understand. I want meaning in a relationship. I want to be loved by someone who understands me, who sees past my title, someone who inspires me to be a better man..someone that I can love."

"You'll find that."

"I have."

Barbara swallowed hard and stopped dabbing. Now was not the time she wanted him to tell her about his new love. "I'm happy for you."

"Are you?"

"Of course. I want you to be happy Sir. You deserve that." She started to apply the lotion more rapidly. She wanted to finish and go back to the safety of the spare room.

Tommy winced as Barbara stabbed at him. "I haven't told her."

Barbara paused and looked at him. "Then how do you know if she feels the same way?"

"I don't, but I'm hoping she does. I can't find the words to tell her."

Barbara felt sorry for him. It was just like him to miss out on happiness because he could not face rejection. "Just be honest," she said softly, unaware that her hand was resting over his heart, "what's the worst that can happen?"

"She'll stop touching me and flee to the spare room."

Barbara laughed and started to find more spots. "I'm sure if you're in bed with her she won't flee."

"For a detective, you can be a bit slow." Tommy took her hand to stop her jabbing him. "I'm trying to tell you I love you."

"You what?"

"I love you. I have for a long time. I never said anything because I thought I'd only end up ruining our friendship but I saw your face earlier. You feel it too, don't you?"

Barbara said nothing at first. "I think I been in love with you from the start, Tommy."

He reached up and stroked her face. "Come here, Barbara. I'm..."

Barbara laughed. "Itching to kiss me?"

Here he was, trying to be serious and she was making a joke of it. Despite the situation, he laughed but then unexpectedly he pulled her to him. It was an imperfect connection, half off her mouth, and brief. They both pulled back. For a moment, they simply stared at each other before their faces slowly drifted together. This time, their lips eagerly sought their counterparts. The initial gentle press accelerated into passion far faster then they were prepared for and they toppled sideways onto the bed.

"Should we be doing this in our condition?" she asked. The heat was making her skin irritable.

"Probably not."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No."

She kissed him again. "Me either."

"We could take a cold bath together."

"Then we'd have to reapply the calamine, and we don't have enough."

"Patrick gave me two bottles," he whispered as he nuzzled into her neck.

"Oh...yeah...mmmm...just there!"

Tommy grinned. He planned to spend their quarantine finding every place that evoked that reaction.