Danny Reagan hated to miss work. He absolutely hated it. He hated doing nothing around the house, he hated that tea Linda made him drink, he just hated all of it. That's why he had to sneak out of the house that morning- because he was sick, and Linda knew it. She'd make him stay home and drink that awful tea.
Danny coughed for the umpteenth time that morning.
"Your cough sounds better," Baez smiled.
"It should; been working on it all night long."
"I'm guessing you had to sneak out of the house?"
Danny nodded as he coughed again, "it's probably just a little cold."
"I seriously doubt that."
"It's nothing!"
"Daniel Reagan!" A familiar and angry voice said behind him.
He looked behind him to see his wife. "Hi, honey. What brings you here?"
"Oh, get off it, Danny! You know perfectly well why I'm here! What part of don't go to work; you've got bronchitis don't you understand?"
"The part about making money. We're virtually broke; we've always been broke, we always will be broke."
"And I'm sure everybody here appreciates you coming to work, coughing up a storm, spreading your germs... just cause we're broke!" Linda took some papers out of her purse and plopped them in front of her husband. "Read 'em and weep."
Danny glances over them while he coughed. "Bronchitis?"
"Go home!" Baez interjected. "That stuff spreads like the plague!"
"See, Danny? Maria knows how contagious bronchitis is. Now come on," Linda tugged him out of his chair.
"Where are we going?" Danny asked; he was in too much pain and too tired to argue. Truth was, he was glad Linda came to get him.
Linda knocked on Lt. Carver's door with the papers in her hand.
"It's open!" She called.
Linda walked in with Danny. "Lieutenant Carver, my name's Linda Reagan, and I'm a nurse. And your detective here has got bronchitis, which is very contagious. Why he came to work in the first place is beyond me. Here are the diagnosis papers; I strongly urge you to send him home immediately."
Carver looked at Danny, who looked flushed and worn out. He coughed again, and Carver nodded. "You're going home, Reagan."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Linda took the papers and stuffed them in her purse.
"Reagan... you two related?"
Danny hugged Linda's shoulders, "She's my wife." He kissed her cheek.
"Who probably has bronchitis now. Come on," Linda took his hand and led him out of the office. She helped him with his coat and shield and gun. "I hope he didn't give it to you," Linda told Baez.
"I'll kill him if he did."
"That makes two of us... Come on, sickie."
Once in the car, Danny asked the question that had been on his mind since Linda first walked in. "How'd you get diagnosis papers? I didn't go in for a check up."
"I've got access to them at the hospital. Bronchitis is a self-diagnosis. So I just wrote up the paper and came over... You're an idiot, you know that?"
"Yes," Danny coughed again.
"You'll be better in a week or two, but you're getting on antibiotics."
"You're the nurse." Danny yawned, regretting the decision to sneak out of the house.
"What? No arguing? No antiquated macho attitude? You're agreeing? Just like that?"
"Look, it was stupid of me to go to work, okay? And, no, no arguments. I feel like crap."
"Good reason for that."
Danny was back to work within a week, but three people were out of work: Linda, Baez, and another detective who had all caught bronchitis from him; and who were all going to give him hell once they were better.
