For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Here's a couple things you might need to know or maybe you just forgot: Casey's injured on another mission and Ellie wants to take care of him. But he knows, deep down, she's the one who needs care.

Chicken Soup for the Cat Owner's Soul

He looked at the empty two washing machines then down at the cat, who seemed to be pacing. She'd walk the entire length of the room, then under the table, under his chair, and loop back around. "What are you looking for, huh? I don't think Ellie's hiding under there..."

Downy stopped, looking up at him. She let out a quiet meow.

"I think she's supposed to be on call this weekend."

Downy meowed again.

"And Woodcomb is out of town on some bungee jumping, near-death-experience bonding thing with his frat idiots."

The calico yawned, stretching.

"Tell me about it," he said in a somewhat amused grunt. He looked again at the empty washing machines. "Stay put?"

Downy watched as Casey stood and moved towards the door. She started to follow, then didn't, jumping into his hamper instead.

"Good girl," he said before crossing the courtyard. He was almost to Ellie's door when he spotted Chuck. "Bartwoski."

The lanky geek glanced back at him. "Oh, hey, big guy." His arms were loaded with grocery bags.

Sunday was the best day for catching up on all mundane, domestic tasks, Casey decided. "You seen your sister?"

Chuck made a face. "Oh-hoo yeah."

Casey narrowed his eyes slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hair a wreck. A nose that would give Rudolph a run for his money..."

Casey's features softened slightly. "She's sick?" Off Chuck's nod, he continued. "Does she have everything she needs? Soup, tissues, medicines...?"

Chuck shrugged a shoulder. "She's not big on people taking care of her. Believe me, this morning, when I told her I was going to the store, asked if she needed anything, I was told, in no uncertain terms, that my assistance was not requested, wanted, or desired."

Casey looked back up at the apartment. "Put your groceries away. I've got something for you to do in a minute."

"But, it's Sunday. No Buy More shift, no national emergency..."

Casey growled.

"Yeah, all right, all right. Be right back."

Casey knocked on Ellie's door and wasn't entirely surprised when she didn't answer. When he checked the handle, however, and the door opened easily, he became somewhat wary. She'd been so sick she didn't even lock the door after her brief conversation with Chuck? As he wandered into the living room, he pulled his service weapon from the back of his blue jeans. "Ellie?"

As he suspected, no answer. That didn't stop him from making a quick sweep of the entire apartment. The last room was the bedroom, where Ellie lay atop the covers, wrapped up in her robe, in a sea of carelessly discarded tissues. The TV was on, tuned into some sappy, cheesy romantic movie. He spotted her hamper by the dresser, as well as the clothes that had almost, but not quite, made it into the basket.

Moving silently, he tossed the rest of her clothing into her basket before balancing it on his hip. Next up, he collected all of her used tissues, tossing them in the wastebasket and removing the garbage bag. As he headed back down the stairs, he made a mental list of everything he needed to do. The first of which was delegate some responsibilities to Chuck.

The geek was standing in the courtyard, glancing around to see where Casey had gotten off to. He was somewhat shocked to see him coming out of Ellie's apartment. "Uh..."

Casey thrust the hamper into Chuck's arms. "Both loads, gentle cycle, warm. If you can't figure out the liquid softener, there are sheets in my basket. Toss them in when you put them in the dryer, permanent press. Understood?"

Chuck looked up at Casey curiously. "I'm doing my sister's laundry?"

"Mine, too. My clothes, cold, normal cycle, permanent press."

"But-"

"The most important thing," Casey said, holding a finger up, "is that you do not let the cat out of your sight. Are we clear?"

"What is this, the Laundry Marines?"

Casey grunted and Chuck started to scramble.

He didn't scramble far. "Uh... Casey...? Where is the laundry room?"

Casey took a slow breath, pointing him in the right direction.

Ellie woke slowly. Her head hurt. She was achy all over. She felt like she'd been run over by a Mack truck a few times and then steamrolled for good measure. She sat up, fully expecting to see her tissues still everywhere. Except, when she opened her eyes, she realized there weren't any anywhere. The box she'd had, just plain tissues, had been replaced with the lotion kind, with the mentholated scent.

Her eyebrows drifted up her forehead. "Chuck?"

She eased out of bed, putting the box under her arm. As she put her feet onto the ground, she saw that her slippers were waiting on her, instead of lost in the back of her closet. Maybe it wasn't her brother. "Devon?" she called, slipping her feet into the warm comfort before heading carefully down the stairs.

She couldn't smell much, but she could tell there was something even better than the scented tissues in her future. It had to be her husband, home early from his trip because he was worried about her.

Except, he wasn't on the couch, on the cardio-bike or even in the kitchen. She inhaled deeply, as deeply as she could. She could see her crock pot was on low, and there was a gentle amount of steam rolling from the glass lid. Inching closer, she found what had to be a delicious chicken soup within, with carrots, peas, celery, wide egg noodles and perfectly bite-sized hunks of meat. She smiled softly, putting her hand over her heart.

Somebody loved her enough to take care of her in return.

She just wished she knew who.

As she put the tissues down, she spotted that a soup bowl, ladle and spoon were already set out for her, just waiting. A note beside it said two simple words in clear, concise handwriting: "Feel better." Beneath it, in bold strokes: "John and Downy."

Stay tuned...