For marcallie

Prompt: Why not continue? (Chapter 7 – Not Feeling Well) Tomorrow morning Morgan has it too. How do they act when they're both sick? Leave me alone or I want you to take care of me? And does the other one try to take care and can't?

Notes: Sorry to everyone who hasn't gotten their prompt filled yet. I'm trying, I really am. I'm actually taking a break from a different prompt that's giving me grief so that I can write this.

You guys have to hold me to this: I'm going to try to update every Friday from now on. Let's see how this goes.

Music: Y'all should go listen to Milo Greene.

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

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Derek woke to a clogged nose and slight burning cloud that formed in his chest and tendriled out to fill his whole body. His eyes opened to slits and everything was slightly blurred.

He sighed. "Oh crap." He had tried so hard not to catch Spencer's cold. He'd washed his hands at every chance, slept in the guest room, the whole shebang. Yet, here he was. Sick.

"D-derek?" A wheezy voice asked from the doorway. Derek opened his eyes fully and drank in the sight of his Pretty Boy.

Contacts out, glasses on - making his eyes seem even bigger than usual. The 'boy band' haircut did nothing to stop the soft tumble of curls from being plastered to Spencer's forehead. Spencer was wearing a pair of pajamas that were long, even on his lanky form. The sleeves hung past Spencer's hands and the extra cloth was bunched in Spencer's fists. The bottom of the pant legs were caught under his feet and made a serious, but very adorable, tripping hazard.

"Hey babe," Derek said, sounding a bit like an angry frog.

Spencer swayed a bit in place before suddenly seeming to realize something. He ambled over to Derek and practically collapsed onto the bed next to him. Despite the heat radiating off of both him and Derek, Spencer immediately curled into his love's side.

"Good morning," he murmured, rubbing their cheeks together like a cat marking his territory. "I missed you last night."

"Spence," Derek whined, trying to shift away from Spencer's heat. "You're too hot."

Spencer opened his eyes a bit and rested his head on Derek's chest. "There are pretty much two ways to break a fever. You can either cool it off or sweat it out." He nuzzled Derek's bare pectoral muscle. "I'm choosing to sweat it out using our combined fevers. So get comfy."

Derek sighed and ran a hand through Spencer's damp hair. "Yeah, sounds good I guess."

"Mmh," was Spencer's only response.

Derek chuckled, although the chuckle twisted into a cough that had Spencer bouncing on Derek's chest. Once the fit had subsided, Spencer was right back in his place, rubbing Derek's chest lightly.

Derek kissed Spencer's head. "If we're gonna be sick, we might as well do it like everything else we do – together."

Spencer laughed breathlessly. "You're such a sap."

Derek didn't answer. He was already snoring. Spencer was more than happy to join him in the sea of slumber.

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When Derek woke again, the curtains were no long glowing with the early morning light and Spencer was gone. Which wasn't very nice for Derek because his fever had broken while he was asleep and he was left curled up and shivering under the covers.

A hand touched the top of his head, which was the only thing Derek let peek out from under the covers. Derek pulled the blanket down a bit and looked up. Spencer had a small, tired smile on his face and a steaming bowl of soup in his hands.

"I'd figured I could repay your soup from last night with my own soup. Oh and while you were asleep, I called Hotch and told him we're sick. He said we're not missing much."

"Good." Derek pulled the covers down to his chin as Spencer seated himself on the edge of the bed.

"Here comes the airplane," Spencer sang, although his voice was still a little raw.

Derek rolled his eyes, but smiled faintly and opened his mouth. The soup was delicious, even if it was from a can. Spencer took a small mouthful of the soup himself.

Derek noticed the bottles of Gatorade on his nightstand and snagged one to take a sip. Spencer nodded approvingly, the Gatorade on his own nightstand nearly empty.

"Here comes the airplane…"

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