"I feel fine," Michael mumbled. The thermometer bobbed up and down with each word. "I don't have a fever."

Fiona folded her arms. "Don't be so stubborn, Michael. You're wearing a sweater comfortably in 90 degree heat."

"So?"

The thermometer started beeping. She grabbed it before he could get to it. A smirk spread across her face.

"101.1 degrees. You have a fever."

He grimaced. "I have work to do."

"So I'll call Sam and have him do it. You aren't going anywhere until this fever goes down."

"But Fi-"

"It's nonnegotiable. You're staying right here for the rest of the day."

"It's just a virus. There's one going around. I can keep working."

She laughed mirthlessly. "No you can't. Do you remember Mackenzie's outside of Dublin? You had the flu and we went in anyway. Your cough gave away our position and we were almost killed!"

"Almost killed. This is just a simple meet, nothing strenuous-"

"That's why Sam can go instead. You aren't on your game. If something goes wrong-"

"I'm not helpless. I'm fine and if I don't leave now, I'm going to be late."

He stood up and started walking towards the door.

"If you don't stay here and rest, I'm calling your mother," Fiona called after him.

He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned towards her. "You wouldn't."

"You know that I would. She'd be more than happy to come right over and take care of you."

He glared at her. She held her cell phone up. Defeated, he slowly made his way over to his favorite chair. She smiled cheerfully.

"I knew that would convince you."

He scowled. "You never fight fairly."

"Where would be the fun in that?"