A/N: A fluffy sick!fic because I could. Thanks to SnidgetHex and pallysd'Artagnan for reviewing!

"Bedside Manner"

2375

Rios shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. But everywhere he turned, the aches were still there, as was the raw throat and the cough and stuffiness that wasn't letting him get any rest.

The door in the outer room chirped, but he ignored it. There wasn't possibly anything anyone needed from him right now when the ibn Majid was still docked in the Fleet Yards getting some last-minute kinks worked out before it was approved for launch.

The door chimed again and he threw his blanket over his head, willing them to go away.

It didn't work. The beeps sounded again and more insistently, as though whoever it was were jabbing the console repeatedly now. Rios dragged himself from bed and shuffled out of his sleeping quarters.

"Who is it?" he barked hoarsely.

There was no response. Right, the computer was currently acting up. With a groan, he slogged over to the door and slapped a hand on the side console to open it. He blinked in surprise at who was standing outside—Raffi, carrying a tote bag and what looked like an old crock pot.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted.

"You said you were sick. I thought I'd bring you some chicken soup." She lifted the pot as evidence.

"Chicken soup," he repeated dubiously.

"Always good for the flu." Raffi nudged past him to come inside.

Rios sighed in resignation and closed the door. "I could have just replicated that here."

Except, those were on the fritz lately too and it would be a gamble for what exactly came out in those ingredients.

Raffi set the pot down on the coffee table and turned back to him, crossing her arms with a huff. "There's gratitude for you."

Rios scrubbed a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, I'm just…" He broke off to cough into his elbow.

"You look awful," Raffi stated. "Haven't you been to sickbay?"

"Yes. I got the trypto-whatever." He waved his hand vaguely. "It's not helping."

Her expression turned sympathetic. "Come on then." She took his arm and started steering him back to bed.

"You shouldn't stay," he protested. "You could catch it and pass it on to Gabriel."

"I'm not worried. I have an iron immune system." She stopped at the bed to straighten out the blankets, then held them up as Rios climbed back under them.

He laid his head back against the pillow and tried not to groan. He ached all over, and while his fever was mildly low-grade, he felt like shit. He just wanted to sleep for the next two days, if this damned flu would let him.

Something cold was pressed against his neck and before he could react, there was the hiss of a hypospray and slight sting. He jolted upright. "What the hell was that?" he exclaimed.

Raffi tucked the hypospray back into her tote bag. "My own homemade cocktail for treating the flu," she replied. "Works every time."

Rios sputtered. "Your- Raffi!"

"Don't be a baby."

"I see motherhood hasn't softened you up any," he glowered.

She slapped the back of his head.

"Ow."

"Get some rest."

"That's what I was doing until some rampaging mother hen came buzzing at my door."

She ignored him and started clearing off his sofa chair of his discarded uniform from the day before, dropping it on the floor instead and taking a seat.

Rios thunked his head back down and moaned. "Don't you have a job or kid or something to get back to?"

"No-pe," she replied with a pop. She bent over and reached into her tote bag, pulling out a paperback book. "Want me to read to you?"

Rios arched a wry brow at her. "I take it back. Motherhood has made you soft."

"Shut up. Now do you want to listen or not?"

He paused and canted his head to see the cover. "Sure," he said with a small smile.

He settled back and closed his eyes as Raffi's voice filled the room with the rhythmic cadence of a swashbuckling tale by Alexandre Dumas.