A/N: Hello again, everyone!

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. No copyright infringement intended.

Inspired by recent events—I took a COVID-19 antigen home test and tested positive; I've decided to have Élise go through an allergy season cold. I took another one again while I feel better, it still came up positive.

RIP QUEEN ELIZABETH II!

Spencer packed his clothes into a luggage case in the guest bedroom he, Élise, and the children were staying in his father's house. Isaac sat next to it on the bed and cooed when he saw a cool pair of sunglasses in his father's luggage and slid them on his face, giggling.

"Aw!" Élise had just returned to the room with Séraphine. "Would you look at that?"

Reid turned his body and smiled at Isaac. "You look good with those on, little man."

Isaac rummaged inside, yanked a dress shirt that sat under a stack of neatly folded clothes, and started sucking on the sleeves.

"Messy bah…" Séraphine giggled.

"Mmm…" Élise gave William a warm and heartfelt hug when she, Spencer, and the children got to the gate to the flight back to D.C. "Later, Papa Reid…"

William smirked when he and Élise pulled back and soon hugged his son. "Have a safe flight home."

"Bye, grandpa…" Séraphine gave her paternal grandfather a hug.

William kissed the top of her head. He whispered in her ear, "Bye, Fifi. Be a good girl for your parents, and I'll make sure Santa gives you all the presents you want."

Séraphine's eyes twinkled, and her mouth curved into an O-shape.

"Wanna say 'bye' to your grandpa, Ziggy?" Spencer asked Isaac.

Isaac babbled, "Bye…pa…" he spread his arms out, waiting for William to hug him, and he did.

"See you soon, little man…" William kissed his head.

The adults' heads lifted when they heard distant overhead announcements over the announcers and loudhailers.

"We better get going," Spencer retook Séraphine's hand; Élise held onto Isaac.

William waved them adieu. "Bye!"

It was about minutes to five when the family landed in D.C. and close to 5:30 when they arrived home. Luckily for them, Rose was still up and already had dinner cooked for them.

While washing the dirty dishes that were left in the sink while Rose was cleaning the basement, Élise took her rubber gloves off and scratched her throat. She kept clearing her throat for about the umpteenth time and got spooked when she heard the kitchen door swing open.

"Whoa!"

Spencer took a couple of steps back and held his hands up; he had a toy in one hand.

"Hey-hey-hey, jumpy."

Élise sighed. She grimaced while scratching her throat again, put on gloves, and went back to doing the dishes.

Spencer stood beside her. "Your throat still irritated you?"

"I hate allergy season," Élise grumbled, drying off one of the dishes and putting it into the dishwasher. "I took some allergy meditation, but it just won't go away."

"You know, the first sign of a cold is usually a sore throat. Following that is congestion, sneezing, coughing, headaches, chills, and lethargy," Spencer followed the symptoms.

Élise took off her gloves again and tossed them aside. "Thank you, Dr. Spencer Reid, triple Ph.D.-but-still-not-a-medical-doctor. But I'm fine," now, a couple of dry coughs came out of her mouth; she covered her mouth.

"Almost as if it came on cue," Spencer winked, proving his theory. "Coughing."

Élise held her fingers over her mouth, waiting for the burp to go down, and bowed her mouth into a smirk. "Ha-ha. I can assure you; I'm as healthy as a horse right now…" after she pounds her chest, she coughed again, this time with greater force, and lightly groaned after; Élise sniffed once and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

Spencer moved back and shielded his face. He put his hands on his waist and clicked his tongue. "Tsh-tsh-tsh-tsh-tsh. Thank you for proving my point."

Élise ripped a paper towel and used it to blow her nose—and loudly—and threw it into the trash, and washed her hands to rid of the germs. "I'll be fi…fin-fi…achoo!" she sneezed into the sink, curled her to stand up straight, and dabbed her nose with the paper towel again. "Fine."

"Tell that to the sink." Spencer concealed his mouth with a blue surgical disposable mask and extended his index finger in the direction of the clear snot-covered sink.

Even with some snot hanging from her nose, Élise slowly turned her head and narrowed her eyes and brows. She directed her finger and warned a cheeky Spencer, who licked his lips in an attempt not to smile, "Don't…say…I told you so."

Spencer practically had to drag Élise into their bedroom, get her to change into her PJs, tuck her into bed, and take her temperature. When he took the thermometer out of her mouth, Spencer read it, and it was 102, meaning Élise had a cold and was on bed rest for the next few days. He thought it would be best if he spent those days in the other bedroom next door; so that way, he wouldn't risk passing it on to Séraphine, Isaac, or even Rose.

"Hey, you…" Spencer greeted Élise, though he knew she thought he said something else with the mask over his mouth. He closed the door with his feet and steadily kept his balance with the decorative bed tray.

"Morning, sunshine…" he called chipperly, kissing her head after setting the tray down on her comfortered lap. "How are you feelin' right now?"

"Oh, Lord." Élise groaned as if she lost the will to do anything with her head against the pillow. "I can't breathe through my nose properly," she massaged her temples. "My head is pounding like a hungover, and I feel like complete crap."

"Well, lucky for you, Rose and I cooked up some cold-fighting foods for you."

Two omelets: one with cheese, peppers, and red onions and one with dark leafy vegetables, tomatoes, and mushrooms, two bowls: one containing nuts and seeds and the other berries, pineapples, sliced kiwi, and apples, yogurt, citrus, and cucumber infused water and hot tea.

"How sw…swe…achoo!" Élise sneezed into her tissue and threw it in the nearby trashcan by her bed. "Sweet." Élise took out the mini hand sanitizer and misted her hands with it.

Spencer set the tray aside, picked up the Lysol spray, disinfected where Élise sneezed, and set it back over her lap.

"You have everything you need to feel better, and until you do, just stay in bed, sleep, eat, drink…"

"And be merry?" Élise joked.

Reid smirked. "You're cute."

Rose casually hummed while sautéing the butter, diced celery, and carrots in the large stock pot over medium-high heat. After cubing the garlic, she added it to the pot and cooked for another thirty seconds.

Spencer came in with an empty popcorn bowl. He caught a whiff of what Rose was cooking and asked, "What are you cooking?"

"My grandmother's special chicken noodle soup; the ultimate defender for fighting the common cold."

"It's not surprising chicken noodle soup has been said to clear the nasal congestion, thin mucus, and have a mild anti-inflammatory effect," said Spencer. "Actually, chicken has an amino acid called cysteine; it what separate the mucus and has the antiviral, anti-inflammatory, and antioxidant effects."

Rose added, "According to her, the secret to a good chicken noodle soup is making your own bone broth. This will really make Élise feel better."

"Mmm-hmmm," Spencer nodded when he heard his phone vibrate from his pockets. He got out his phone, and it was a work-related text message.

"Work?" asked Rose, still focused on her soup.

"Yup."

Spencer got dressed and had his satchel. Before he left the house, he took a quiet to peek inside the bedroom and saw Élise sleeping.

And snoring.

He chuckled when he closed the door. "Oh, you still snore like a drunken sailor," he said to himself.

Spencer sat next to Rossi, who showed him pictures of a classic 1947 sandy beige Torpedo C body where Rossi told him he had put in new brakes. Another one of Rossi's spare time hobbies he got from his Uncle Sal was repairing old cars—the American classics that are not made as they used to be and the ones people would pay serious money for.

Hotch came in; Garcia got started on the case involving the teenage girl; her boyfriend was attacked by her father, a repeat offender…

During the discussion, Hotch had the chair to hang onto as he stood; his voice seemed steady and out-of-breath, and his skin tone looked a bit paler than usual.

He tried to excuse himself before he suddenly collapsed on the floor.

"Aaron!"

"Hotch!"

Now the image of Hotch passing out will forever be embedded in Reid's mind.

Being sick was not going to stop Élise from—at least trying—to get some of her work done. She had her laptop, disinfectant spray, medical gloves, and mask. She couldn't risk getting any germs on her paperwork.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Lindsay Harper, an associate, asked Élise. "We can get this case work when you're feeling a bit better."

Élise sniffed and nasally replied, "Let me tell you something, Linds. I will get out of this bed, put on some designer pumps, walk to any courtroom, and try any day of the week. I'm a fierc-fierce la-achoo!"

"Bless you."

"Thank you," Élise blew her nose and sighed. "A fierce lady…for one hour. You can only have me for one hour, and be thankful it's over the phone and online via email. Like my time, my health is valuable."

"You are so stubborn," Lindsay chuckled. "But a Queen."

Élise replied again, "I got the stubborn part from my father and the Queen part from my mother." her phone pinged for a message from Spencer. She opened it, and she couldn't believe it.

Hotch is in the hospital.

Rossi stood behind in D.C. while the rest of the team was on the flight to Wichita. According to the doctors, Hotch is now in stable condition but has internal bleeding due to the scar tissue from the stab wounds caused by Foyet.

He told the rest of them to focus on the case, and he'll catch a flight later; Garcia would keep him company but still provide.

"How'z Hotcha, Garcia?" asked Élise before she sneezed into her tissue.

Garcia winced worryingly. "He's in surgery right now. Oh, Foyet returns from the grave after all these years to rain more on Hotch's parade. No, I think he wants to blow up the floats with him in it."

"Hee's gonna be fine; you just halve to halve hope," Élise offered some positive words before she sneezed again. "The doctorz are going to do everything they cann."

Garcia took some deep Zen breaths. "Okay. Okay-okay."

The team delivered the profile to the Texas police officers and were warned to proceed with caution due to the unsub's violent tendencies after it was discovered to have been responsible for three deaths; two related to a crime that led to where they are now.

"Mama…" Isaac babbled. "Mama…"

Rose comforted him. "Oh, I know you wanna see your mommy right now, but you can't. She doesn't want you to get those nasty germs from the cold she has…"

"Ew…" Séraphine stuck her tongue out.

Morgan slipped on his dark shades and had a sip from his paper cup. "This guy's not coming."

"Mm, we really haven't been here that long," said Spencer; he had his sunglasses down on his nose and was casually reading a book under a set-up tent.

"Yeah, but if he wanted to make a run for the border, he'd have been caught in the net by now," said Morgan while he sat at the edge of the table across from Reid.

Spencer suggested, turning his head, "Maybe we made him switch directions."

"Well, we can't cover everything. Texas is huge."

Spencer sprouted, "268,581 square miles, to be exact. Largest state in the contiguous 48 and the second-most populous. Don't mess with Texas." The last sentence got Morgan to chuckle a bit. Spencer proposed, "Hey, you want to read? I always do when I'm anxious."

Morgan read the title of the book Spencer gave him. ""The Magical Mathematics of Quantum Physics."" He dramatically took a moment to be fascinated by it and simply replied, "Nope," he handed the book back and joked, "I'm good. I'll wait for the movie."

Soon, the two agents checked for cars passing through the highway with the patrol when they received news of the unsub's daughter calling her mother from a motel.

"Hey, Élise," Rose had a kind smile—even with the mask over her face—when entering the bedroom with a tray.

Élise put her tablet next to the pillow where Spencer rested his head. "Hey, Ro…" she sneezed before Rose positioned the tray over her lap. "Rose."

"My grandmother's chicken noodle soup with homemade bone broth," Rose positioned the tray. "A salad with shiitake mushrooms and ginger, marinated fruit, honey cinnamon squares, and green tea."

Élise sniffed. "I already feel better, thanks to the smell from the soup."

The case ended on a bittersweet note, which could have ended on a downer note, but it didn't.

"Hey, JJ," Spencer called out for her; JJ stopped and turned. "I'm sorry you went through that. With your sister…"

JJ sighed. "Yeah," she sniveled and straightened up. "It still hurts, but…" she wiped her nose. "Thanks."

Spencer watched JJ go in the opposite direction.

"You all ended up in Los Angeles?" Élise was on the phone with Spencer, who was on the flight back to D.C. "I never would have thought…"

"This wasn't the first time we had to follow an unsub through different states," said Spencer, and he asked, "How are you feeling? You sound better?"

Élise chuckled. "I think that soup Rose cooked up did the spot for me," an idea came to her. "I want to do something more than send Rose some flowers. Maybe a nice spa day."

"That's a sweet thing to do," Spencer complimented. "You know Hotch made it through surgery?"

"Mmm-hmm," Élise squealed and coughed into her tissue. "You want to go see him and Jack when they come home from the hospital?"

"Aarie…!" Séraphine was the first to walk into Hotch's hospital room and jumped nearing his bed, getting his full attention. The family had balloons, plush toys, and chocolate treats for Hotch.

Hotch chuckled weakly; Spencer scooped Séraphine and placed her on his bed, allowing her to hug her godfather.

"Yoo kk?" asked Séraphine.

"The doctors fixed me up, so now, I'm alright," Hotch hugged her again.

Spencer asked while swapping Séraphine with Isaac. "Did Jack see you?"

"Yeah, after the surgery," said Hotch. "Jessica took him to school."

Élise offered; she had a mask over her mouth, "Want us to pick him up after school?"

"I think she would appreciate that," Hotch still had his head against the pillow. "I had these wild visions of Haley and Foyet."

"Say what?" Élise looked confused.

Hotch massaged his forehead. "Oh, where do I start?"

Spencer and Élise pulled up chairs and gathered around his bed. "I love a good dream story."