A/N: Purely H/C fluff, because I wanted to show Lewis' paternal side and the relationship between both him and Hathaway. Also because I am a sucker for Hathaway peril, even if it isn't particularly perilous.

Fever

"You seen Hathaway yet?" Lewis said to one of the constables on the desk.

"No Sir. He called in sick sir, said he wasn't coming in." Lewis shook his head, smiling at the young uniform.

"Lazy sod. Cheers Chris."

"No problem guv."

He decided that since James hadn't returned the call he'd made half an hour ago, or replied to the various texts sent since, that there were only two options. One, James was skiving off. Admittedly it didn't seem particularly likely. That left number two. James was genuinely ill. And considerably so, if he wasn't answering texts, the boy was practically glued to his phone. It made Lewis uneasy. In fact the only other time he could remember Hathaway being ill, he'd been with him. And that was hardly the lad's fault, he had been poisoned with arsenic. Either way, it couldn't hurt to pop over after work. Could it?

Sighing, he pulled up outside James' flat at half 8 that evening. If this was Jim trying to get out of paperwork he'd...well he wasn't sure but he'd be bloody annoyed.

He quickly realised that this wasn't the case, when after 5 rings, he got no answer at the door. Walking round to the living room window, he saw James slumped on the floor, head rested against the sofa. Lewis silently thanked whatever entity was answerable for decreeing that he ended up in a rough school in Newcastle, where he learnt how to pick locks. He wrestled Hathaway's door open and rushed into the living room.

"Ah Jim, should have gone to bed ye silly boy". He didn't get an answer and he wasn't expecting one

After practically carrying Hathaway up to his bedroom, Lewis set about trying to find the things that he would need. He reasoned that the ever-careful Hathaway would have a basic first aid kit somewhere in his house. Once he found it, he pulled out the thermometer and the ibuprofen. Satisfied that James' temperature was below 103.F (he'd learnt that above that was a hospital job. He and Val had to rush Lyn to A&E when she was 5) he returned to James' bedroom to check on him.

It became apparent to him at about half 9 that James was actually ill. He resigned himself to the fact that it probably meant that he'd be here to the early hours. Not that he really minded. Robbie Lewis wouldn't have had the heart to leave the pale, shuddering form on the bed alone, even if he'd wanted to.

He sat up with James through the night. Alternatively trying to cool him down, and get him to sleep. Hathaway's submissiveness, only served to prove to the inspector that he really was ill. He didn't protest as Robbie shoved a glass to his lips, didn't try to shrug the help off as he normally did. He wasn't really sure James even knew he was there, whenever the younger man's eyes were actually open, they were glazed over and he didn't respond to any thing Lewis said.

He knew that soon would come the shaking, the fatigue and unconsciousness. All this knowledge served to do, was to convince him further that it was a bad idea to leave his sergeant alone that night. The man was clearly not all there and Robbie couldn't trust him to be able to get himself help if he needed. Especially since when he'd arrived, James had been passed out on the floor.

He pushed away limp hair that was plastered onto the feverish man's face, the movement coming naturally to a man who'd had two children. Satisfied that James wouldn't die in the next 10 minutes, he quickly went to the bath room and prepared a cool flannel, intending it to be used on Hathaway's forehead, which was so hot Lewis was sure he could cook off it. He put it where it was needed, replacing it every time a movement caused it to slide off

He kept guard over James as he tossed and turned, muttering in the throes of the virus that gripped his system. Held down his limbs as they jerked, the body's response to infection. Woke him up every time the fevered muttering got too frantic, every time the pale face displayed that haunting look of terror.

When the fever broke, it was a relief to both of them, even if James wasn't alert enough to realise. Lewis had been starting to get worried, he might have nursed his children's fevers but that was a long time ago. Lewis smiled slightly as the younger man settled into more peaceful sleep.

Its disconcerting to realise you've lost 24 hours of your life.. This is why James Hathaway woke up feeling extremely disconcerted. He was lying in his bed, feeling as weak as a kitten and drenched in sweat. He couldn't remember getting up to his bedroom, but he knew he must have left it because he was in his work shirt and trousers. So he must have got up and got ready for work and never made it there. Once the world had stopped swirling, he turned over and saw the painkillers and thermometer lying on his bedside table. Along with a glass of water, something else he didn't remember sorting out. Soon after while he managed to stagger to the bathroom and change his shirt, washing his face as well.

After he'd made himself look semi presentable, he made his way slowly downstairs to the kitchen, realising that he hadn't eaten anything for at least the twenty four hours he couldn't remember. He was still shaky but he felt a bit better. Good enough to attempt to make and eat an omelette and try to keep down a cup of tea.

He was somewhat surprised to see his inspector slumped in the armchair in his living room. Although a lot of things now suddenly made sense. Like how he ended up in bed, with water and painkillers within easy reach.

"Sir?" He watched as Lewis started awake, blinking blearily at him. He saw the moment where Lewis realised where he was and shifted upright in his seat.

"Jim. How're you feeling lad?"

"Better sir thank you...Have you, um, been here all night?" Lewis nodded at him, still a little sleepy. James felt a look of gratitude spread across his own face as he watched the older man stand up and stretch his back, groaning.

"Why sir?" Lewis looked at him, as if the question was ridiculous. There was a sadness in his eyes that James didn't understand.

"You were in a bad way sergeant. You were passed out on the floor when I got here. Couldn't have left you to it could I?"

"...Thank you sir" James meant it, now that he thought about it, he had vague recollections of feverish nightmares.

"Don't mention it Jim. Its fine, honestly." His voice told James that he wouldn't accept any more gratitude. Not a natural hero, Robert Lewis. So James decided to show his thanks in the way he knew would be accepted.

"Sir, since you're here, do you want breakfast?"

"If you're up to it James." James nodded.

"S'least I can do sir. Omelette okay?" He saw the grin on his bosses face and returned it. He didn't miss that Lewis followed him into the kitchen and stayed nearby in case he collapsed again. He made them both breakfast and once they were full up, Lewis jerked his head to the door.

"I best be going Jim, Our Lyn's coming over tonight, I need to make the flat...well habitable." James nodded at him, sitting back from the table with a contended sigh.

"Yes sir. Er...what day is it?" Lewis snorted quietly as he read James' mind.

"Sunday sergeant. You don't need to go into the station."

"Ah blessed relief." He got to his feet, alarmed at the way his head seemed to take a little longer to get there than the rest of his body. "Thank you."

"Get away back to bed with ye." Lewis' grin was tempered with lingering concern. James could see the sense in his words, he was really tired.

"With pleasure sir. Thank you again sir." Lewis nodded at him in acknowledgement of his thanks and smiled.

He waited until he was sure his sergeant had made it safely to his room, before he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Anytime kidda, anytime."