�Casey?�
�Hm?�
�I think I�m dying.�
�You�re not dying, Danny.�
�How can you tell?�
�Because you have a cold. People do not generally die from a cold, your paranoid delusions to the contrary aside.�
Dan sniffled. �It could be the flu, you know. People do die from the flu.�
�You don�t have the flu.�
�What makes you so sure?�
�Well, for one, you�re still upright. Remember the last time you had the flu, Danny?�
�No,� he lied.
�Well I do. You spent the better part of four days camped out on my couch, looking whiter than the pile of bedsheets you insisted I cover you with. If you had told me you were dying then, I might have been inclined to believe you. But the interesting thing about you is that the sicker you get, the less energy you have to whine. So you�ll have to understand if I don�t quite believe that you�re dying from a stuffy nose and a few sneezes.�
�You know, I bet it�s that�virus. The one with the�� he waved a hand around erratically �stuff.�
�Ah,� said Casey wisely. �Yes. The virus with the stuff. The deadly Stuff Virus. How could I forget that one? Well, undoubtedly that�s it, and you�ll be dead within the hour.�
�Mock now,� Dan told him, �because soon enough you�ll be left with no one to mock but Dana and Natalie. And I have no doubt that they could both kick your ass with those pointy little shoes.�
�Too bad you won�t be around to see it.�
�Yeah. Well, at least I can take some consolation in the fact that I will be avenged.�
�By Natalie�s pointy shoes?�
�Indeed.� This was punctuated by a loud sneeze.
�Why are you here?� Casey asked abruptly.
�You mean aside from just enjoying your superior wit? I�m here to write a sports show, Case. Maybe it�s a concept you�ve heard of�?�
�Funny man. What I meant was, you�re clearly under the impression that you�re deathly ill. And you haven�t written a word of your script yet. Why even bother coming in today?�
�I�ve written some stuff.�
�No you haven�t.�
�What makes you say that?�
�I�m psychic, Danny.�
Dan frowned. �Are you?�
�Yes. Also, your computer screen reflects in the window.�
�Ah. I see how it is. You take pleasure from fooling the dying man.�
�Go home, Dan.�
�Trying to escape the last few hours of my company?�
�Seriously, man, go home. You�re going to sniffle your way through the show, Allison is going to have an aneurism when she sees that red nose she�s going to have to cover up, and you still haven�t written anything to say. We can have Rick in here in twenty minutes to cover for you. Go home, get some sleep, eat some chicken soup, and get better, okay?�
�Dana�s not going to like it.�
�Well, Dana can bite me.�
�Can she? �Cause that I would pay to see.�
�Go.�
�I can�t have chicken soup, you know.�
�What?�
�You told me to go home and have some chicken soup. But it�s just not the same when you make it yourself. My mom always made it for me when I was little. I don�t think it would have the same effect now.�
�You�re not gone yet. Why is that?� Casey picked up the phone and waved it in Dan�s direction. �Look, I�m calling Rick now. See me call Rick.�
�Call, Casey, call.�
�I�ll deal with Dana, okay? Go get better�soup or no soup.�
�Call me after the show?�
�Of course.�
�Okay. I�m gone.�
�Bye Danny.�
�Oh, and, just in case�drop by my apartment in the morning and make sure I�m still alive, ok?�
�Bye Danny.�
_______
�Rick is an idiot.�
�Hi Dan.�
�No, I mean seriously, who says stuff like that on the air?�
�Rick, apparently.�
�No, I mean�Case, did you see��
�I saw, Danny. I was in fact there, in case you�ve forgotten.�
There was a long pause. �What are you doing here?�
�I came to�see if you�re still alive?�
�It�s one in the morning, Case.�
�I just got out of the office, and I didn�t want to call and wake you.�
�So you came over and woke me instead?�
�I figured you could sleep through the buzzer. The phone? Not so much.�
�Hm. Makes sense.� His eyes darted down to the crumpled paper bag in Casey�s hand. �You brought me presents?�
Casey smirked and held up the bag for inspection. Danny tore into it and pulled out a large styrofoam cup, and a grin appeared on his face. �You brought me soup.�
�I hear it�s not the same when you make it yourself.�
�Well you�ve clearly been listening to someone brilliant.�
�Clearly.� Dan sneezed, then shivered violently. A look of concern instantly replaced Casey�s smile. �Danny, go get back under your covers. I�ll bring this in for you.�
His instant obedience worried Casey a little, because it meant that his cold was definitely getting worse. As he shuffled through the cabinets in the kitchen, looking for a clean bowl, he called towards the bedroom, �have you taken any cold medicine?� and was met with a negative mumble. He stopped in the bathroom on his way in and grabbed a bottle of NyQuil from the medicine cabinet.
Dan�s eyes lit up at the sight of Casey and the soup, but when he saw the NyQuil he wrinkled his nose at it. �I hate that stuff,� he said, slurping down some of the soup.
�I know.�
�It makes me all fuzzy.�
�Fuzzy.� Casey smirked.
�Yes.� Dan paused a few minutes to enjoy the soup. �This is�uncommonly good soup, Case.�
�Yeah, I slaved over it.�
�Meaning you stopped at DiCello�s?�
�Something like that.�
�Mmm,� Dan remarked appreciatively, but then turned a suspicious eye on the bottle in Casey�s hand. �You know, just because you bring me comfort foods doesn�t mean that you get to force me to drink that stuff.�
�Ok,� Casey agreed easily. �I can just get Rick to come back on the show tomorrow night.�
Dan�s eyes flashed. �Okay, goddamnit, give me that crap.� He grimaced as he swallowed down a capful of it. �Happy now?� he asked, glaring mutinously in Casey�s direction.
�Delirious,� Casey assured him, and disappeared into the kitchen to rinse out the soup bowl. When he returned, Dan was curled up on his side under the blankets, looking small and rather pitiful. He sat down on the edge of the bed and tucked the covers a little more securely around his shoulders. ��Night Danny,� he said quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder. Dan reached up and his fingers tangled lightly with Casey�s.
�Thanks for the soup,� he mumbled.
Casey smiled down at him. �Anytime,� he said with more feeling than he had intended.
Dan snuggled deeper into his pillow but didn�t let go of Casey�s hand. His hair stuck out at all sorts of odd directions, so Casey reached out to smooth it down, and then placed a small kiss on Dan�s forehead. A tiny smile appeared on Dan�s face and he opened his eyes to look up at Casey.
�You know,� he said sleepily, �you should probably stay here tonight. Just to make sure I don�t die of the deadly Stuff Virus or something,� he added quickly, bringing a grin to Casey�s face.
�Probably a good idea,� he agreed seriously. �It has been known to strike without warning, you know.�
�So I hear,� Dan said, his reply muffled against the pillow.
Casey slid into the bed behind Dan, a task made more difficult by the fact that Dan seemed to refuse to let go of his fingers. As he curled up behind him, he noticed that Dan smelled like soap and aftershave, and chicken soup, and a tiny hint of NyQuil. And when Dan rolled over and their lips met he discovered that he tasted like those things too, but also like something that was purely and undeniably him.
_______
�Danny?�
�Hm?�
�I think I�m dying.�
�You�re not dying, Casey.�
�How can you tell?�
�Because you just have a cold. It�s not the end of the world.�
�You know, this is entirely your fault.�
�It is. But you love me anyways.�
�Yeah�I do.�