December 7th - Playing Florence Nightengale
Morgan sniffled, groaning, as he flopped back on the couch; as much as he hated to admit it, he had come down with a cold. He figured it was probably due to the snowball fights over the last few days; that had pretty much been asking to be stuck down with a life-threatening flu.
Remembering his mother's advice to get lots of rest whenever he was sick so he could recover quickly, he wrapped the blanket tighter around his body and attempted to take a nap, but his mind wouldn't let him rest.
He smiled to himself at the memory of Emily grinning as she found out what him and Garcia were up to in the snow earlier. It seemed that he was finally getting through to her.
Not only had she shirked work to play in the snow, but she had done so with no coercion whatsoever, completely of her own freewill.
And he found himself completely drawn to that side of her. Happy, playful, carefree. The smile lighting her face had sent a surge of warmth through his system, knowing he was at least partially responsible for this scarcely seen laid-back side of her. Not to mention that with that brilliant smile gracing her features, her astounding beauty was infinitely multiplied.
As he had stood back, watching as she made Reid shriek in terror while she giggled brightly, he found his thoughts drifting away to some imagined point in the future. A point where he watched as Emily tussled in the snow with their children. It was a future he liked, one he wanted more than anything to have.
Just then, he was pulled from his happy thoughts by a knock on the door. He couldn't imagine why anyone would be at his door at the current hour and he began grumbling moodily to himself as he went to answer the door, thinking it must be a mistake.
Instead, he found that it was no mistake and the person standing on the other side of the door was the one he wanted to see the most.
"I made you soup," Emily smiled as he let her in.
"Soup?" he said, confused.
She laughed, joking, "I see the sickness has already spread to your brain... Shouldn't you be resting?"
"Well, I was, but then someone started pounding on my door like the Gestapo wanting me to eat soup..."
"Fine, if that's how you feel... I was going to take care of you, but I guess I'll just go..." she taunted.
He sighed dramatically, "If you really want to take care of me, I suppose that would be alright."
"How noble of you." She spun him around and, hands on his shoulders, guided him towards what she guessed to be his bedroom. "You need to rest."
Before he was totally aware of what was going on, she had bundled him up in blankets and tucked him into bed, shut the blinds, and turned out the lights. A few minutes later, she came back and immediately began playing Florence Nightengale. Pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, she murmured, "You're a little warm, probably have a bit of a fever."
Evidently, she had raided his medicine cabinet because she handed him a glass of water and a cocktail of what he assumed to be various pain killers, cold medication, and decongestants. He had to admit, he found it endearing the way she had made herself right at home.
Then, she demanded that he eat some of the soup she'd brought, pressing the warm bowl into his hands. "Chicken noodle. I made it from scratch," she said, "One of the few things I can actually cook. And, if I do say so myself, it's pretty great."
"We'll just see about that," he said, blowing softly on a spoonful of the liquid. Then, spoon half-way to his mouth, he frowned, "Isn't the saying 'feed a cold, starve a fever'?"
"It's not like you're burning up," she scoffed, "Besides, the reason they say that is because your digestive enzymes start to denature above a certain temperature; I think you can handle soup. Chicken noodle even helps you get better."
"Does not, that's an old wives' tale," he argued.
"Actually, a study was done that proved..."
He cut her off, "You've been spending way too much time around Reid."
She laughed, "Would you please just eat your soup?"
Finally, though not without a dramatic sigh, he took a bite. Begrudgingly, he admitted, "It is pretty good..."
She smiled smugly, "I knew it."
Waiting until he'd finished eating, she ordered, "You should try to get some sleep. I'll be sleeping on your couch if you need anything."
He had to admit, he was touched that she was so devoted to taking care of him. It was a welcome glimpse into the kind of life they could have together, one that wasn't seeming so far out of reach lately.
Smiling impishly, he said, "I need you..."
She rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant."
"But what if I stop breathing in my sleep?" he implored, "I need you here with me for safety reasons." She raised an eyebrow and was about to protest when he reasoned, "You're gonna be sleeping here anyway, you may as well do it in a warm, comfortable bed. There's plenty of room and I'm too tired to take advantage of you... Although, I'm not sure I can trust you to do the same..." He used his best puppy-dog look, "I'll be lonely..."
She sighed, "Fine. But if I catch your cold, I'll never forgive you."
"Deal." He smiled brightly; he'd long dreamed of holding her in his arms while they slept and this was as close as he was about to get. He pulled back the corner of the covers so that she could slip in next to him.
"Sweet dreams," she murmured softly as he started to drift off, her own voice sounding cloudy with sleep.
He sighed happily, already knowing they would be.
