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Casey angrily shoved at the door to the diner. Forty-five minutes past the start of shift and not only had Walsh not shown up at the station, he wasn't answering his phone. So he was either being an inconsiderate asshole - sixty percent chance - or there'd been another shoot-out at the diner.
He’s not behind the counter serving some poor, unsuspecting soul swedish meatballs with a raspberry glaze for breakfast, which should be reassuring but somehow wasn’t.
“Walsh! Where the hell are you? And why aren’t you answering your damn phone?” Because seriously, they did not have time for this, Alvarez was already making noises about becoming primary on the last case they caught and they’re probably just one screw-up from the Sarge encouraging it.
The only answer is a low moan from the back, and Casey finds herself breaking into a run toward the door to Walsh’s quarters. "I swear to Christ, Walsh, if you're jerking off in there, I'm going to shoot you in the balls."
Walsh wasn’t jerking off. He was lying facedown on the bed, head buried in his pillow, one arm dangling over the side. He turned his head to the side as she came through the door, hand automatically reaching toward the gun on his bedside table before he blinked, recognized her. His eyes were still bleary, though, and his skin was a shade of greenish-pale that shouldn’t exist in or out of nature.
"You look like crap. Have you been eating your own recipes again?"
Walsh glared at her. But it was a weak glare, and Casey started to get really worried. She reached out and touched his forehead. "Shit, Walsh, you're burning up. Do you have a thermometer in here?"
He shook his head. “M’fine.”
“Right, because zombie roadkill is totally the in-look this season. There’s this little thing like medical care that you might want to look into.”
"Not the hospital." There was a hint of panic underlying the raspiness of his voice.
It made Casey’s throat hurt just listening to it. She sighed. "Yeah. Not the hospital." Looked over at Walsh, sprawled out on the bed, body pale and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.
God, this is why Allison shouldn't have decided to move to a cheaper city. Casey should have begged her to stay, anonymously paid off her settlement. Had a ‘friend’ desperately need a cat-and-apartment-sitter. Something. Anything. If Allison was still here, she'd probably still be dating Walsh and would want to take care of him when he was all ... weak and kitteny. It was disturbing.
“Shove over. I need to change your sheets and you need to drink some water.” She pushed at Walsh’s shoulder. “Also, if you’re going to make a habit of getting sick, I’m buying you pajamas for Christmas. You know my stance on pointless penis viewing.”
"Your bedside manner sucks." Walsh's voice was whispery. “Also, lets not discuss my penis right now.”
"Yeah, whatever." She smoothed her hand absently over his forehead, snatched it back when she realized what she was doing. Definitely disturbing. She was going to have nightmares about this. “I hope you realize how big you’re going to owe me.”
Walsh let out another groan. “No. Whatever you’re planning, no. Just shoot me now.”
“Sorry. Paperwork for weapons discharge is a bitch.” Casey’s smile was positively gleeful.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Morning, Second Squad. It looks like the coffee bandit struck again ... he really needs to learn a better way to 'espress' himself. Yeah, I went there. And remember, If you're in the neighborhood, dispatch likes a half-caf vanilla latte with extra whip.
“Seriously? You’re wearing a surgical mask now? Why - why would you do that? Just feel like it complements the kevlar?”
“There is a swine flu outbreak! Do you even know what that means? In 1918, the swine flu created a pandemic. People died. Lots of people died. Everyone always dismisses influenza like it’s just a sever cold but it’s not. It’s deadly. Deadly. As in, not something to mess around with. I actually got enough for everyone in the department, who knows what Walsh exposed us to.”
Delahoy rolled his eyes. He picked up the mask left on his desk with two fingers, stared at it a second, then flicked it over toward Bank’s desk. “Wait, what? What about Walsh?”
“He’s got it. The swine flu. Schraeger called it in about 20 minutes ago. He’s out for the rest of the week, at least.”
Eric buried his face in his hands, eyes squeezed tightly shut., fingers rubbing at his temples. He could feel the pressure building up in his skull. Just the stress of dealing with Leo in 42 mode he told himself. That’s all.
He just needed Leo to focus for a second.
“Leo. Leo! Do you even know what this means?”
“Yes! It means we have all been exposed to a deadly strain of the H1N1 virus. It means that I could die of the flu. The flu, Eric! Dying of illness is one of the most disgusting ways to go. It’s not quick, and it’s not pretty. I do not want to die of the flu, I d-”
Delahoy cut him off because, one, he didn’t want to hear an illness rant and two, he absolutely didn’t want to hear about prolonged suffering. “No. It means we’re probably going to have to work with Alvarez on the Biscotti case.”
Banks’ eyes blinked above the surgical mask, slowly filling with dismay.
In the background, Eric could hear, “Well, Eddie Alvarez is working a pretty full case load, but of course I’m happy to help out against this reign of coffee shop terrorism.”
Delahoy sighed. “Oh, yeah. We’re screwed.”
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Casey woke with a start, mind automatically cataloguing her surroundings. Unfamiliar mattress and things didn’t smell right … she sat bolt-right up in bed, before the semi-familiar breathing next to her was interrupted by a hoarse, tearing cough. Walsh her mind reminder her. She was at her partner’s and he still sounded like crap.
“Walsh?” Casey reached over and felt the skin against his forehead, clammy, but cooler now, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped out of bed. She was so tired, it felt like she hadn’t slept in the last three days. Walsh’s fever had gotten dangerously high at one point and she was seriously about to say screw it and just make him go to the hospital, except every time she got to that point, she just - she just remembered that look in his eyes, and she couldn’t do it.
“I think you’re going to live, buddy. Although seriously, I don’t even know why anybody would want to be a nurse, it’s disgusting and also stakeouts and shootouts are a lot more restful.”
"More fluids, though, you definitely still need more fluids." As Casey turned to go, she felt a hand slip loosely around her wrist, tugging her back.
"Hey. Schraeger. You - I know you didn't have to do this. Could have just dumped me at the ER or ... Just. Thanks."
Casey grinned at him. "Hey. I figured I had two choices - save your life now, or go through your porn collection after you died and I'm still not absolutely sure you've told me where everything is. So really, I had to save your life for both of us." She smoothed the lock of hair back off his forehead, reached down and unthinkingly pressed a kiss to it. A heartbeat later, she was stumbling back, her hand pressed against her mouth, babbling through it. "Oh fuck, what ... sorry. Sorry, reflex, my mom always kissed my forehead when I was sick and I don't even know what ... that did not happen. Lets just say that did not happen and I'll just ... I 'll get you some juice. You need juice. And I need ... I ..." Needed to leave, five minutes ago.
*** **** **** *****
"You know, something about this is striking me as odd." Eric chewed thoughtfully on his lip, staring at the green and white sign before him.
"Reallly? Something is striking you as odd? Ten coffee shops are hit in the last two days by an armed robber, the cash registers are left completely untouched, but all the pastries and food items are taken ... and the espresso machines are shot full of holes and something is just now striking you as odd?"
"Exactly! It's not ten coffee shops that are getting hit. It's ten Starbucks."
"Well, there is a Starbucks on every corner. Maybe it's just convenience? Although it makes them impossible to stake-out. How is he even hitting them all, unless he can stop time or teleport? "
"Or it's a vendetta ..."
"Or just somebody who really hates over-priced, shitty coffee?"
"Point taken."
*** ***** ******
Casey leaned against the diner fridge, pressing her forehead into the cool metal. This was ridiculous. It was Walsh. Sure, he was gorgeous, in a sturdy, compact sort of way - the exact opposite of her type. But, really ... Walsh. This could not be happening. It - it was the flu. She'd probably caught it. She was probably delirious. It wasn't ... it wasn't lust making everything all hot and hazy and her skin feel tight and flushed. It was probably fever. She was almost certainly dying, that was the absolute only explanation for what made sense.
Which - that made it easier. Screw the embarassment of having just ... just having kissed Walsh on the forehead. Sure, he was going to mock her for the rest of her life, but given that was probably only a few hours away, fine. She'd get him something to drink, crawl into bed, and then just go ahead and die and get it over with.
She took a deep breath, grabbed a bottle from the fridge, and forced herself back into the bedroom.
"Don't. Say. A. Thing." She gritted out in Walsh's general direction, tossing him the juice.
"Casey ..."
"No! Zip it. And move over, it's my turn to die a hideous, disgusting, phleghm-filled death."
Walsh just blinked at her, but then obediently shifted right. "You know, you ... you really have a way with words."
"I'm dying. You've killed me and broken me, all at the same time. You obviously gave me your flu. I hate you." She slid into the bed next to him, trying to ignore the heat radiating off his body. She flinched back as Walsh's hand reached over toward her forehead, then forced herself to remain still. Delirium excused everything, right?
His hand brushed against her forehead, softly, so much softer than she ever would have imagined. Trailed down the side of her face, and then pressed against her cheek. "Casey. You don't have a fever."
She clenched her eyes, refusing to look at him.
His thumb slid against her skin, brushing lightly against her bottom lip. Reflexively, Casey licked out, grazing the edge of it with her tongue. Walsh let out a soft noise, and she could feel him moving closer, the heat of his body so familiar after the last few days but so new at the same time. He nuzzled against her, days' worth of stubble rough against her skin as he mouthed against her jawline. "I'd kiss you with my disgusting mouth, but I don't want you to shoot me." His voice was low and deep, still rough and raw.
For a second, Casey felt like every muscle in her body had locked up. Then she flung herself against him, pushing him flat against the mattress, straddling him. "Screw that. Unless you want them to never even find the body, you'll do a lot more than kiss me." Then she pulled back slightly, looking down at him considerately. "Although you're still weak. Maybe I'll have to do all the work."
**** ***** ***** *****
"Banks, Delahoy!" Sergeant Brown paused at their desk, mouth quirked up in what could almost be called a smile. "Good work on that coffee case. Who knew that a co-op of independent coffee shop owners would band together to take out Starbucks?"
"Yes, sir. It wasn't even about the competition. They just thought that Starbucks roasting was a crime against coffee. I actually felt a little bad booking them." Delahoy fingered his moustache thoughtfully. "But where they really went wrong was making themself so traceable."
Brown quirked an eyebrow at them.
Leo nodded from across the desk. "Craigslist. They solicited each other on craigslist. Once we found that, it was easy to infilitrate their meeting and round everybody up at once." He looked wistful. "It was a really good meeting. Best coffee I've ever had in my life."
Eric sighed a second. "That was good coffee. The pastries sucked, though. Stale."
Brown waved them on, sighing. "Good job, anyway. Maybe we can put you on the next bakery robbery, balance things out. It should be a piece of cake."
He walked off, ignoring Banks and Delahoy gaping at one another.
"I think ... I think the Sarge just made a joke." Delahoy whispered.
Banks' eyes were huge. "This isn't just the year of my death. It's the sign of the apocalypse. We're all going to die."
Delahoy nodded. "It was good working with you, Leo. Good working with you."
THE END