Disclaimer-- I don't own the characters of CSI:NY

When Stella didn't show up at their scene Flack started to worry. She was a strong independent woman, who could certainly handle herself, but she was very rarely late for work, and she never skipped out on anything. He'd learned that lesson all too well since they had gotten together when she had frequently laughed off his mostly serious ideas of calling in sick and just staying home all day long.

So when he and Lindsay were left alone in Central Park with their dead guy he thought it was best to give her a call. When he dialed her number he heard three or four rings before her groggy voice came over the line.

"Bonasera," she answered miserably.

"Stell? You sound like crap.

There was a round of harsh coughing before she spoke again. "Probably because I feel like crap."

"You okay?" he asked, concerned.

"I've apparently got the cold from hell or something anyway. I can't stop coughing, my sinuses have gone crazy, my throat hurts, I don't want to get anyone sick and Mac told me to stay home."

He really felt for her, knowing himself how bad it sucked to be down for the count, unable to work and aggravated about it. "It's miserable, I know. Is there anything I can do?"

On the other end Stella shook her head. "Not unless you've discovered the cure for the common cold. I'll be fine Don, thank you though."

"Okay. I'm going to get back to the scene but I'll talk to you later. Feel better; I love you."

"I love you too."

Don couldn't help but feel horrible for her. Stella was a close contact kind of person, and she loved her job. Not being able to be around anyone for fear of getting them sick had to be driving her up the wall. Still, there could be something he could do about it. Flack could feel the wheels starting to turn in his head.

When his shift was over, he let himself into Stella's apartment with his key and set an armful of bags down on her kitchen counter. He had heard her coughing when he came in the front door, and she didn't hear him over the noise. Don made his way to her bedroom and couldn't help but smile when he saw her.

She was reclining against her pillows with her hair in a messy bun, wearing a pair of flannel pajamas. The remnants of what looked to be about two boxes of used tissues were piled into a garbage can next to the bed, and her various medicines were arranged haphazardly on the table next to her bed.

It was then that it hit him. The tip of her nose was pink, she was using a tissue and she looked and felt miserable, but she was still beautiful to him. Even when she was germ ridden and surrounded by used tissues and cough syrup she was gorgeous. Maybe he'd had an inkling before, but now he knew this was the real thing. Wasn't that something?

Stella looked up and saw him, managing a small smile. "Hey, don't get too close, I don't want you to get sick."

"I have an immune system of steel," he told her, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "Nurse Flack at your service."

She laughed. "You don't have to do this for me Don."

"I want to. I grabbed some soup from the deli on my way over. I'm going to go heat it up then we can watch whatever reality TV show marathon is on and make fun of the idiots who decide it's a good idea to make an ass out of themselves on national television."

True to his word, minutes later they were both settled with big bowls of steaming soup and crackers. She wouldn't let him get any closer than the chair next to the bed, but for the moment he dealt with it. They watched a marathon of some stupid show that had them both laughing hysterically, punctuated by Stella's frequent coughing.

When they both finished their meals Don disappeared again and came back with his hands behind his back and a mischievous grin on his face. "Want to see what I have?" he asked.

"Of course," she told him, her tone mock serious.

From behind his back he produced a fan of popsicles, all wrapped in brightly colored paper. "Which flavor?"

Stella laughed. "I guess I've got to go with grape," she told him, grinning when he tossed it to her and plopped back down in his chair. "You're pretty good at this."

"Well I try. Is it helping?"

She nodded. "It really is."

"Then that's all that matters."

They devoured a couple of popsicles and almost as soon as they tossed them in the trash he nodded towards her battalion of cold and cough products. "You should probably take something, get some sleep."

"I really should. Thank you for all of this Don; I missed the human contact today."

"What are significant others for? Take something; I'll hang around until you fall asleep."

Knowing he was right, she took a dose of her nighttime medication. In about fifteen minutes it began to kick in, and she felt herself dropping off. The moment he noticed her getting groggy, Flack stood and stripped out of his dress shirt. He was kicking of his shoes when Stella finally noticed he was stripping.

"Don, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting ready for bed," he told her with a smile.

She shook her head. "I'll get you sick."

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't." He climbed in next to her and pulled her into his arms. "You said yourself you missed the contact, and I've got some sick days coming."

It suddenly dawned on her that he'd set this all up. "You're a sneaky man Don Flack; making sure you have sick leave just in case, getting me all cough syrup loopy so you can climb in bed with me."

"Something like that," he said with a smile. "I love you Stell, and I want you to feel better."

Feeling her medicine majorly kick in, she gave up wondering about him and simply settled in against him, letting her eyes fall closed. "I love you too, and thank you; it helps."

He smiled, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "That was the plan."