Title: Coddled
Author: carleton97
Author contact: carleton97@excite.com
Author website: http://carleton97.populli.net
Fandom: Without a Trace
Pairing: Danny/Martin
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Nope
Archive: Yes, keep headers attached.
Summary: Martin is sick.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I just play with them.

Author's note: Neko wanted non-smutty domesticity. I made this.




"Martin?" Danny stuck his head through the door to Martin's apartment, pocketing his for-dire-emergencies-only key. Martin had given him the key months ago, before they had started sharing awkward dinners and hesitant goodnight kisses, and Danny wondered if Martin even remembered he had it.

Just past the entryway, the living room was dark and quiet, the only illumination coming from the muted television. Danny wrinkled his nose at the stuffy air and tried to remember if Martin's windows opened. "You alive in here, Fitzie?"

The blanket covered lump on the couch twitched and Danny could see one bleary eye peeking out from a gap in the pile. "Jack said you called in sick. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Uh huh." If the congested croak hadn't sounded so pathetic, Danny might have laughed at the blatant lie Martin had just told. As it was, Danny made a brief detour into the kitchen before sitting down on the coffee tale, a plastic bag at his feet, and peeling back layers of blanket to get to Martin.

"How'd you get in here?"

"Key."

"That key was supposed to be for emergencies only." Martin was in a pitiful state. His hair was a mess of sweaty tangles where it wasn't flattened to his head. His nose was red, his lips were chapped, and his eyes were glassy and bloodshot. He was wearing a paint-stained Mariners t-shirt and a pair of washed out black boxers. He crossed his arms, shivering, as the Danny pulled away the last of his cocoon.

"You weren't answering your phone, I thought it might be an emergency." Danny laid his hand on Martin's neck, "Jesus, you're burning up. Have you taken any aspirin or anything?"

"I took some Tylenol around three." Martin jerked back when he realized he had been leaning into the coolness of Danny's hand. "It's just a cold, I can take care of myself."

Danny rolled his eyes and opened the bag he'd brought with him, lining up items next to him on the coffee table. Once everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he pulled a thermometer from the group and shook it down. "Open up."

Martin pressed his lips together, obviously protesting, but Danny's whispered "Please, Martin," had him giving in, if a little less than gracefully. Danny set the old-fashioned mercury thermometer under his tongue then waited a moment, as if to make sure Martin was going to remain cooperative before turning back to his array of remedies. "I should have brought orange juice, but I know you don't like it, so you'll just have to take vitamin C with your apple juice."

He pulled the thermometer from Martin's mouth and frowned down at it, "One hundred one point five." He set the thermometer aside to be cleaned later and began collecting a neat pile of pills for Martin. "Vitamin C, zinc, non-drowsy Tylenol Cold."

Martin took the offered pills and the bottle of apple juice, swallowing the medicine in two batches. He drained the rest of the juice and handed the bottle back to Danny, panting slightly. "More juice, please?"

Danny grinned and handed him another bottle before pulling a blue jar from the line up. "Lift your shirt."

"I hate that stuff, Danny."

Danny figured it was safe to ignore Martin's whining since he had already wriggled half way out of his shirt. He massaged the pungent ointment into Martin's chest, doing his best to ignore the firm muscle under his hand. When he was done, Danny wiped his hand on a bunch of tissues and brushed a kiss over Martin's cheekbone as he pulled the blankets back up over his shoulders. "There's some soup and more juice in the fridge for later, okay?"

Martin caught Danny's wrist before he could step away from the couch. "You're going?"

Danny smiled and shook his head. "I don't have anyplace else to be."

"Good." Martin let go of his wrist and gestured towards the overstuffed chair next to the couch. Once Danny was settled, Martin picked up the remote, raised the volume, and began flipping channels until he found something he liked.

"Martin? Are we really watching Dawson's Creek?"

"Shut up."

End