“No. No, I am not allowed to get sick,” Jensen sniffled. He leaned against the doorway, blurry eyed from sleep. His nose was red and running, and he sounded like he was speaking through a tube. “We don't have time for me to get sick.”
“Too damn bad,” Aisha smirked from her position on the couch. Her head was resting on Clay's thigh, and neither of them were acknowledging it. Emotionally stunted bastards.
“It's a cold, Jay,” Pooch laughed. “It's not like you're dying.”
“Liar,” Jensen spat, sneezing. “I've got the Black Death, and I'm going to die, and then who's going to crash Goliath's stock?” He sneezed again. “I hope I give you my germs.”
“Salud,” Cougar murmured from behind Jensen. He glared at the rest of the team before leading their tech away from the group and towards the kitchen. He sat Jensen down in a chair, ignoring his muttered complaints about being treated like a doll. There was an open can of soup on the counter and a pan in the sink. Campbell's chicken soup, a Losers' specialty. (None of them could cook, which usually made their options limited.)
“Eat,” the sniper ordered, planting the bowl of the stuff, along with a spoon, in front of Jensen. Jensen dutifully picked up the spoon and dug in, even though he wasn't really hungry. He'd learned long ago not to quibble with food, because you didn't always know when or where your next meal was going to come from.
Cougar sat down across from him and watched the whole time, making sure that Jensen ate every bite. When he was done, and the last of the broth was consumed, Cougar leaned over and kissed the top of Jensen's forehead.
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Soup, Cougar/Jensen, G
Date: 2010-12-24 07:47 pm (UTC)“Too damn bad,” Aisha smirked from her position on the couch. Her head was resting on Clay's thigh, and neither of them were acknowledging it. Emotionally stunted bastards.
“It's a cold, Jay,” Pooch laughed. “It's not like you're dying.”
“Liar,” Jensen spat, sneezing. “I've got the Black Death, and I'm going to die, and then who's going to crash Goliath's stock?” He sneezed again. “I hope I give you my germs.”
“Salud,” Cougar murmured from behind Jensen. He glared at the rest of the team before leading their tech away from the group and towards the kitchen. He sat Jensen down in a chair, ignoring his muttered complaints about being treated like a doll. There was an open can of soup on the counter and a pan in the sink. Campbell's chicken soup, a Losers' specialty. (None of them could cook, which usually made their options limited.)
“Eat,” the sniper ordered, planting the bowl of the stuff, along with a spoon, in front of Jensen. Jensen dutifully picked up the spoon and dug in, even though he wasn't really hungry. He'd learned long ago not to quibble with food, because you didn't always know when or where your next meal was going to come from.
Cougar sat down across from him and watched the whole time, making sure that Jensen ate every bite. When he was done, and the last of the broth was consumed, Cougar leaned over and kissed the top of Jensen's forehead.
“Siéntase mejor, guapo.”