A/N: Well, your reviews took me right back to the days when I was a kid at home with my own many siblings and one of us was going to get in trouble! Really made me laugh! Patty, I'm betting you're a good parent, or, if you're not a parent, a good friend. But have no fear - Alan is on the job, and he's no fool.

This chapter is a bit longer. Broken sooner it was too short, and broken this way, it answers what seem to be the most pressing questions. Special thanks to you folks who leave unsigned reviews, since I don't have any other way to thank you. I really love hearing what you have to say.

Chapter 10

A Little More than a Chest Cold Thing

Something was poking at his ear and he curled away from it, burrowing deeper into the covers. The poking persisted, following him, and he batted at it this time, groaning in sleepy protest as it dug deeper and stayed. There was a sharp beep, right in his ear, and he swallowed a hoarse whimper, hoping that if he held still it would go away and leave him alone.

"Donnie." A light rub at his shoulder. No such luck, evidently. "Come on, Donnie - I need you to wake up and swallow this - it will only take a minute."

Reluctantly he rolled onto his back and tried to will his eyelids into an upright position.

"Come on - I need you to sit up just a little, or you'll choke."

He was choking anyway, inside, his breath squeezing begrudgingly through the narrow airways in his lungs.

"Come on." The voice was sure persistent, and he won the battle against his eyelids and peeked. Oh. Oh, yeah.

The light in the room had changed only marginally, the overarching greyness of the rain muting any differences between morning and afternoon. He sniffed, reached automatically for his Kleenex box.

"That's better…" The coaxing voice - the one that made him feel as if he was still six years old. "Swallow this."

He took the pink pill mindlessly, accepting the sports bottle of water as a chaser. Was it that late? Was he really ready for the antibiotic? Didn't matter, probably, as long as he did it once a day…

"Are you hungry? I think you should eat something before you doze off again, especially with the medicine in your stomach."

"I'm awake." His voice sounded like crap, and he cleared his throat cautiously. He heard a quiet laugh and forced his eyes further open. "I am," he insisted.

"All right. Your temperature is a little better. What do you feel up for? Soup? Toast?"

He grunted noncommittaly, oddly incapable of even the simplest of decisions.

"Well, juice definitely - you need plenty of fluids."

Don tugged the covers a little higher, running an appreciative hand over the electric blanket. It wasn't old after all - was almost as new as his, with a plush surface and thin, barely noticeable wires; a pale robin's egg blue. "It's new," he croaked.

"Yeah - just a few years old - I had to dig it out. I don't use it because it's too hot for me - but your mother loved it. Seemed like she was always cold, especially - well. You know."

Oh.

"Your mother loved nice bed things."

"She did?" He opened his eyes a little further. They swam with moisture, distorting his vision.

"Mm hm." There was an expectant air about his father's manner, as though he was waiting for something, and for a moment Don struggled to figure it out. "By the way, I talked to your doctor."

"My doctor?" Did he mean the urgent care guy? Probably more a resident than a doctor. How would he talk to him?

"That's right. I found the name and number on your cough medicine bottle."

Oh. Okay. That made sense. He remembered something and tried to hitch himself up against the pillows. "He said I could go to work Monday."

"Monday? As in tomorrow?" His father sounded shocked.

Tomorrow? Was it almost Monday already? But he had done everything he was told - or, almost anyway - bed rest, fluids - the whole bit. Sure, he didn't feel so hot right now, but he should be okay by tomorrow, right? "Yeah…" He paused, trying to remember everything. "Eight hours," he reassured. "No field work."

"Really." Dad didn't sound angry, though - more…amused. "Well, we'll see tomorrow morning, shall we?"

There it was, that 'I got a secret' tone again. "I'll be okay by tomorrow." There was no ignoring the responding chuckle. "I will," he protested.

"Well, we'll see." In a tone that clearly meant 'in a pig's eye'.

Don tried to think of something smart and convincing to say in return, but his throat hurt and his head ached and his brain was fuzzy.

"Anyway, I called your doctor because I wanted to ask about using a vaporizer - your breathing sounds very congested, and I remembered when you were young, they used to recommend it for some chest colds and not for others. Just couldn't remember which was which. While I had him on the line, he offered to renew the prescription for your cough syrup if you needed it…" The pause was dramatic and full of significance, but if Don was supposed to figure out why, then he was stumped. "…he said that it wasn't uncommon to need that in cases of…pnue-mon-ia." Alan dragged the word out pointedly, then waited.

Oh. Oh, d - Don swallowed painfully. "Oh, yeah. I guess he did say something kind of like…that."

"Really." Alan folded his arms and smiled a patient smile. "And when were you planning on informing me that this was a little more than a 'chest cold thing'?"

"I don't know…" Never. "Doesn't make a difference, does it? Pretty much the same thing."

"No, son of mine, it is not the same thing. A cold is a virus. Pneumonia is an infection - it means your lungs are filled with pockets of pus."

Don groaned and slunk down in bed with a cough. "…thanks for the mental image…"

"People die from pneumonia."

Don squinted his eyes open at that. "I'm not going to die. He said I could go to work Monday. How big a deal could it be?"

"Really." The patient smile was downright patronizing now. "I'll be very interested to see that."

Don groped for a tissue and coughed into it. "Look, I didn't mention it because - I didn't want it to seem like this big - thing."

"I see. Well, here's a secret." Alan sat down on the edge of the bed and adjusted the covers around him. "It is a big thing." He patted Don's chest. "I'll get you some soup."

Don frowned at his back as he moved to the door. "I'll be okay to work tomorrow."

His father's laugh trailed him out the door.

0

The soup was good. Not that he was surprised or anything, except maybe by how nice it felt to have something warm inside him. Much better than his own efforts at toast. Still, to his own puzzlement, his appetite seemed to disappear about halfway through the bowl and he lowered his spoon and gave his father an apologetic look. "It's great - I'm just not that hungry, I guess."

"That's all right." Alan removed the bowl, a faint crease in his forehead. He shot him a look from under his brows. "Maybe I can wrap it up for your lunch tomorrow. You know - at work."

"Sarcasm. Nice." Was he actually headed for another nap? Exactly how many naps could one guy take? "And I'm just going by what the doctor said, okay?" His voice disappeared on a squawk and a cough.

Alan handed him the Kleenex box. "I suspect he meant if your temperature is normal and if you keep a meal down and if you feel well enough."

"Yeah?" Don tossed one crumpled tissue in the trash and tugged another free. "Then he should have said that."

"I suppose he was assuming some measure of common sense…I could have warned him."

Don made a face before taking the Kleenex box under the covers with him. "You know, your soup may be A+, but your beside manner is, like, a D," he rasped.

"Retribution for not coming clean with me. Cold?"

Don fumbled for the controls to the electric blanket, half opening his eyes at him. "…yeah…go figure."

"I'll get you another blanket."

Alan disappeared from Don's field of vision and he shifted, struggling to find a comfortable position on the mass of pillows. He opened his eyes in time to see a blue wool throw added to his tower of covers and sighed/coughed.

"How's that? Warmer?"

"Yeah. Dad?" He closed his eyes again. Yeah, he was definitely going for another nap…

"Hm?" The ubiquitous hand was at his forehead again. He didn't exactly mind.

"I lied. Your bedside manner is…top grade."

"Now you're just sucking up because you like my soup. Want me to bring the thirteen inch in here? In case you ever keep your eyes open long enough to watch some television."

He would like that, actually. Even without his eyes open, he liked the pleasant lull of background voices the television could provide. On the other hand, maybe he should make a real effort to wrangle himself downstairs…he tried to picture that and rolled onto his side instead. Not gonna happen…"If you don't mind…"

"I think I can manage. It'll come in handy - just in case you decide not to go to work tomorrow."

He keeps saying that like it's so funny. Some kind of self-defense is definitely in order here. "Look, it's the doctor who said…"

The front door slammed. "Dad?"

Alan sniffed. "Residents. What do they know." He raised his voice. "Up here, Charlie."

"You're not - um - I mean - " Charlie appeared in the doorway. "Oh. Hey, Don. I didn't see the Suburban."

"He took a cab." Alan fixed him with a stern look. "You couldn't ferry your brother home when he's sick?"

"Hey, I tried. You know what it's like to try to get him to do something he doesn't want to do." He switched his gaze to Don. "Finally gave in, huh? I told you to call me if you needed anything."

"The power went out in my building."

"You should have called."

"I did call - Dad answered." Now, this was one reason he preferred to be sick alone - nobody arguing with you. Much more peaceful.

"I meant my cell."

Don seriously considered pulling the covers over his head and pretending to disappear, the way he used to when he was small. Instead, he opted for changing the subject. "How'd it go with Amita?"

Charlie's face brightened. "Good. They had a really nice bistro on the premises…you were right - it was romantic."

Alan raised his brows. "You stopped by your brother's for romantic advice while you were on a date?"

Charlie looked indignant. "Of course not. I thought he was going to be out for the day."

"You stopped by…" Alan's brows drew together. "Oh. I see."

Charlie shrugged. "What can I say. Sometimes four's a crowd."

"Well, I see your point." Alan shook his head. "There has to be a simpler way for us to work out this shared living space."

Don closed his eyes. "We used to hang something on the dorm room door as a warning in my college days." Hm. Something wasn't quite…

"I'd prefer not to hear the details of your college dorm life. I'm sure they'd make my blood run cold. Speaking of which…" Alan turned the stern look back to Charlie. "You weren't even going to tell me your brother has pneumonia?"

"Pneumonia?" Charlie stared at Don. "He told me it was a chest cold thing!"

Don groped for another Kleenex. "It's - what's the difference? So it's a chest cold thing that needs…antibiotics." Something was definitely a little…

Charlie gave him a pitying look. "There is a little more difference between a chest cold and pneumonia than…people die from pneumonia!"

"I'm not going to die!" Don winced as his voice broke on the last word and he coughed into his Kleenex. "I'm not all that sick! The doctor said I could go to work - " He broke off at his father's derisive laugh. "Okay, he might have said 'probably', but I am not making that up. Call him yourself if you don't believe me, since you're so chummy now."

"Okay, so you're not going to die." Charlie set his jaw mulishly. "That's not the point. The point is that - that it shouldn't always require a cryptographer to interpret what you're really saying. When I asked you what you had, why didn't you just say pneumonia?"

Don kneaded his forehead. "This is why. Say 'chest cold' and nobody gets excited. Say 'pneumonia' and suddenly everybody's all worked up." He paused and swallowed hard. He was cold again - a different kind of cold, that dampened his hairline and shivered over his skin.

"Well, if you'd just say that in the first place - "

"Never mind what he said," Alan interrupted. "- you should have called me or wrestled him here."

"You had a date. And he's bigger than me."

"Yes, he looks very intimidating at the moment. Amita could wrestle him right now."

"Hey, Amita is a lot stronger than she looks."

Don groaned. "Way too much information, Chuck…" His stomach twisted within him and he wasn't entirely sure it was due to the mental images that statement incited. Uh oh…

Alan switched his exasperated gaze to Don. "And you should have just come home in the first place. You know better than this. Pneumonia is nothing to trifle with on your own. What if you'd gotten too sick to call? How long would it take us to figure out that something was wrong? The image of you lying there all alone in your apartment, needing help and unable to call for it, is not one I need added to my nights."

The guilt card. Usually Don responded instantly to the guilt card, but right now he had more urgent concerns. "Dad…" he tried in a small voice.

"Don't 'Dad' me. If you choose to treat your life so casually on the job I suppose I have nothing to say about it. But the least you can do off duty - "

Casually? Under any other circumstances, Don would have protested, stung, but he now recognized this particular type of cold and suddenly knew time was limited. No chance to get anybody's attention - looked like he was doing this on his own. He used the covers to drag himself up and tried to get his legs over the side of the bed.

Alan frowned. "What do you think you're - " He grabbed him by the shoulders and looked directly at him this time, his own face suddenly changing. "Charlie - " he said sharply. "Get me - "

But it was too late. Don no more could have stopped it than he could have stopped Vesuvius from erupting. He dug his fingers into his father's shoulders as wave after wave of cold and sickness passed through him, the world greying at the edges. His last conscious thought was that it was a hell of a way to stop an argument.

TBC