Ryan was getting really annoyed at whatever invisible force kept moving his hand away from his stomach and chest. He knew the next time it happened, he was going to swing, slap away whatever was keeping him from scratching. Without opening his eyes, he slowly crept his hand up and laid it on his chest. When nothing happened, and nothing moved his hand away, he quickly began to scratch. But damned if something didn't stop him again. This time, however, it came as a shock to Ryan that the force also had a voice.

"You can't scratch."

Ryan opened his eyes to see Sandy holding him by the wrist. He pulled his wrist free and yawned.

"Why not? I itch. A lot."

"Yeah. I know, but you have to try not scratching. You could end up with an infection. Didn't Kirsten tell you that already?"

"She mentioned it, but I still itch. Still a lot. It's impossible not to scratch."

Ryan couldn't stop himself as he again began to scratch at his stomach, only to have Sandy grab his wrist again.

"You have to try. Trust me, you have to really try. You won't like the alternative."

"What alternative?" Ryan noticed the slight smirk on Sandy's face, and he didn't like the look of it.

"You'll see. If you don't stop scratching, you'll see."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Ryan knew he was whining. He knew it, and he hated it, but he doubted he could stop. It had been a really long time since he felt so miserable.

Sandy pulled out a sheet of paper. "Well, Kirsten left a whole list of instructions. Number one is to check your temperature."

Ryan started to shake his head even before Sandy picked up the thermometer. "No, she just feels my forehead."

"It doesn't say that on the list, so here, put this under your tongue."

"Sandy…"

"It doesn't say that. It does say threaten him with the thermometer, and I don't even want to know what that means. So just cooperate."

"Fine," Ryan mumbled, with the thermometer already in his mouth.

Sandy made a note on his list after removing the thermometer from Ryan's mouth. "Okay. Number 2 – lunch. Rosa is bringing that up a little later. Number 3 – baking soda bath."

"A what? Why baking soda? Kirsten used something brownish last time."

Sandy scanned the list again. "I don't know why. It doesn't say. The list says baking soda, and that the baking soda is in the bathroom already."

"Where is Kirsten?" Ryan didn't mean for it to sound whiney again, but the stuff on the list wasn't what Kirsten did last time, and last time she made him feel better. Sandy obviously didn't know what he was doing, and since it was different, Ryan doubted he'd feel better.

"She had some errands to run since I got home early."

"Why are you here anyway?"

"Because I live here."

"Very funny. I mean, you didn't have to."

"I don't have to what? Enjoy a quiet peaceful afternoon at home? Thanks, but I think I deserve the occasional afternoon off."

Ryan could only sigh and shake his head. Obviously, Sandy wanted to play stupid, so Ryan decided not to bother trying to thank him. Okay so not exactly thank him since him being home gave Kirsten the chance to leave, but well, Ryan wasn't sure what he meant, so he just said nothing.

Since Ryan didn't say anything, Sandy continued. "Okay. So we're on number 3 – baking soda bath. Need me to do that?"

"No, I got it."

"Okay, good. It says a tepid bath. Do you know what that means?"

When Ryan glared at him, Sandy chuckled. "Okay. Me neither. Just try to make it the same as before, but with the baking soda and soak for an hour."

"I know."

"Okay, then. You do that. Number 4 – change the sheets on the bed and get him a change of clothes. That would be my job."

Ryan stopped just outside the bathroom. "Sandy, you don't have to change the sheets again. Kirsten did that this morning. Rosa's going to get mad if you keep taking the sheets off the bed, and I keep changing my clothes."

"It says so on the list, and I think I'd rather have Rosa mad than Kirsten. Besides, Kirsten already did the laundry from this morning, and you know Rosa has a soft spot for you. I think we're safe."

Ryan rolled his eyes and shook his head. The extra attention Sandy was giving him was almost as irritating as the itchy blotches, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He knew Sandy was trying to make him feel better, but it only made him feel worse.

"Look, Kirsten got this all from the doctor, and I promised her that I would follow the directions to the letter. So for right now, your job is soaking in the tub for an hour. Mine is to change the sheets on the bed, get you a change of clothes and check on your lunch. And then we can move onto Number 5."

Ryan didn't answer as he shut the door to the bathroom and started the bath.

"How much baking soda?" he called through the door. Sandy's muffled response that "the list didn't say," didn't help him.

Ryan poured half the box into the tub, and then took advantage of the closed door between them and began to scratch his stomach and then his chest. And then his back, squirming around, trying to reach everywhere he itched. As he stripped off his sweats, he began to scratch his left thigh, and then muttering an "oh crap," he started to scratch his left arm, and then the back of his neck. He then poured the rest of the baking soda into the tub.

An hour later, Ryan climbed out of the tub. He was still itchy despite the bath so he took his time drying off. The longer he was in the bathroom alone, the more he could scratch.

The knocking on the door made him jump. "No more scratching, Ryan. Let's go – lunch is ready."

Ryan wondered how, just like Kirsten, Sandy knew what he was doing. It was like they came with some sort of x-ray vision or something.

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan mumbled as he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom.

"Okay – lunch, pills and cream," Sandy told him as he handed Ryan his clothes. "You know, you have spots on your legs now."

"Thanks. I know."

Sandy chose to ignore the obvious sarcastic tone in Ryan's answer. "You may want to forego the sweats. Probably less irritating on your legs."

Ryan glared at Sandy again before shutting the bathroom door again. He let the look speak for itself. Ryan emerged from the bathroom a minute later – wearing his sweatpants.

Sandy shook his head. "Fine. Suit yourself, but I still have to apply the cream on your legs now."

Ryan continued to glare.

"The list says…"

"Sandy…" Ryan held out his hand, figuring nothing more needed to be said.

"Okay, fine. But if you miss a spot, you'll be sorry. Oh, and just so you know – the list says that I have to put the cream on your back since you can't reach it."

Ryan didn't mean to slam the bathroom door as hard as he did, but just thinking about stripping down so Sandy could apply cream to him was just wrong. On too many levels. Ryan pulled his sweats down, and unfortunately realized that Sandy was right – it did feel better without them. Something else that was just wrong.

After applying a lot of cream up and down his legs, chest, arms, neck and stomach, Ryan attempted to reach his back, and realized that there really wasn't a way for him to do it himself. He was going to have to let Sandy do it for him. Ryan sighed as he put his sweatpants back on and walked out of the bathroom.

He didn't say anything to Sandy as he handed him the cream and turned around. And luckily, Sandy decided not to say anything either. Nor did he make Ryan get back into bed. He just quietly and quickly spread the cream across Ryan's back, and gave him a gentle pat when he was done.

Not knowing what else to do, Ryan climbed back into the bed, with the fresh new sheets and started to pick at his lunch, still too embarrassed to look at Sandy.

A few quiet minutes later, Sandy finally broke the silence. "You have to eat more so you're not taking these pills on an empty stomach."

"More pills," Ryan mumbled.

"Yeah. Sorry. I know the pink is the Benadryl to help control the itchiness. Tylenol for your fever and the other is a decongestant for your stuffiness."

"Just the Benadryl. I don't want the other stuff."

Sandy opened his mouth, but Ryan stopped him. "Please, Sandy. Please don't tell me it's on the list. I'm sick of the list, and I don't want to keep taking a bunch of pills. Okay?"

"Okay, I won't tell you it's on the list, even though it is. I will tell you that if you don't want to breath easier, then don't bother with the decongestant. However, I will also tell you that since your fever is still hovering close to 102, you don't have a choice about the Tylenol."

Ryan continued to nibble at his lunch. He knew it would be a waste of time to argue with Sandy over the pills; he wasn't going to win. Besides, his throat was still scratchy, and he was still itchy so the sooner he took the pills, the sooner Sandy would leave and the sooner he could scratch again.

It was an excruciatingly itchy eternity before Sandy handed Ryan the pills – decongestant included- and watched as Ryan took them all. He had continued to pick at his lunch, even though he wasn't really hungry until he saw that Sandy appeared to be satisfied with how much he had eaten and agreed Ryan had enough in his stomach to take the pills. Once satisfied that Ryan had indeed taken all the pills on the list, Sandy patted his leg and turned to leave. "If you need anything…"

"Yeah, I know – I'll call you."

"Just remember – try not to scratch."

Ryan nodded as he watched Sandy leave. For a split second he felt a slight twinge of guilt for being so relieved to see Sandy go, but with him gone, now Ryan could scratch.

Sandy had barely shut the door before Ryan was scratching and itching anywhere and everywhere on his body. No amount of cream this time seemed to be taking the itch away, especially on his legs. They were the worst.

All he could do was moan and groan and scratch and itch. No sooner did he stop scratching his legs to move onto his arms or chest or stomach or neck, and he'd have to go right back to scratching his legs.

Ryan was groaning, moaning and scratching so much that he never heard the door open - didn't know he wasn't alone any longer - until he heard, "I thought I said don't scratch? I told you, Kirsten said you're going to get an infection."

"I thought you'd left."

"I thought you weren't going to scratch."

"I never said that."

"I never said I was leaving."

"I don't need a babysitter."

Sandy grabbed Ryan's wrist once again and pulled it away from scratching at his chest. "Apparently you do. Besides, I thought maybe we could play some cards or something. You know – keep your mind off being itchy."

Ryan rolled his eyes as he pulled his wrist out of Sandy's hand. "Let me guess – it says so on the list."

"Pretty much. It says to keep you occupied until the pills kick in, and you fall asleep."

"Fall asleep? Why? What did you give me?"

"The Benadryl and the decongestant both cause drowsiness."

"Why? I know you can get pills that don't cause drowsiness. Why couldn't I take those?"

"Because, according to the list, it was one of the doctor's suggestions. This way you will sleep more, scratch less, reduce the chances of infection and generally be passed out for a large portion of the illness."

Ryan didn't answer. It actually made sense, but well, he wasn't in the mood to tell Sandy he was right. Or rather, the list was right. No, that would be Kirsten was right, again.

Sandy started shuffling the cards. "So what will it be? Go Fish? Crazy Eights? Old Maid?"

"Not funny. I know I have a five-year-old's disease, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm not five."

"Poker it is." Sandy watched as Ryan reached under the covers and again scratched at his legs. "And stop scratching!"

"I can't help it." Even Ryan realized how whiney that sounded, but well – it was true.

"Are you sure you're not five?"

"You're still not funny. My legs are killing me."

"I already told you – take off your pants. Stop rolling your eyes. You know you feel better without your shirt, so it would stand to reason that your legs would feel better if you removed your sweats."

"And sit here playing poker in my underwear? Yeah – I'd rather itch."

"Uh-huh. Okay, I'll make you a deal. One hand – winner takes all. Well, not all, but your pants."

"You want me to play strip poker? Um, Sandy, that's really wrong and kinda sick."

"You've never played strip poker before?"

"I never said I never played. I just never played with a guy before, and I don't plan on starting."

"Why? You afraid you'll lose?"

Ryan snickered. Lose? To Sandy? Not likely. "Fine. One hand, but if I win, I get to keep my pants - and my shirt if I want it - and I get some alone time to scratch if I want to. Deal?"

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan slumped down in the bed, glaring and pouting with his arms folded at his chest. And his pants in Sandy's hand. "Not fair."

"A deal's a deal. And never try bluffing with an old card shark, especially one who can always tell when you're lying. Come on – admit that your legs feel better."

Ryan continued to glare. Fine, they did feel better, but he wasn't going to admit that. He just wanted Sandy to leave. Take his pants and leave him alone – miserable in his underwear.

Sandy at least seemed to know that Ryan was done or maybe simply tired. "Okay then, now I'll go and let you get some sleep. Don't worry – I promise to keep Seth out of here when he gets home. I can't make any promises about Kirsten though. I don't think I can keep her out. Actually, I don't think I'm willing to even try."

Ryan still didn't answer. He had no answer. He was feeling pretty tired and not as itchy, but still too miserable to admit to Sandy that he was right. He'd rather just try to get some sleep and not think about the fact he was all but naked in the Cohen's spare room, covered in itchy, annoying chicken pox.

Nope – it definitely couldn't get much worse for Ryan. Or so he thought.