Black market: oneshots

Airstream soup

Patrick was beginning to feel quite ill. His head was spinning and pounding at the same time.
He opened the blind, resting his forehead on the cool window of the Airstream, closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing, enjoying the feeling of the condensation settling on his clammy skin. His throat felt scratchy, nose stuffy and he was tired. Scratch that... exhausted! He was just beginning to drift in his thoughts when a sudden rap on the door jolted him back.

Clearing his throat he made his way down the aisle, using every available ledge to guide him and keep him upright. Fumbling with the handle he opened it slowly and found Teresa stood with soup in hand.

"Your tomato soup, sir" she grinned offering it towards him, a twinkling sense of mischief in her eyes. Patrick mumbled a thanks and shuffled back to let her in.

She headed to the kitchenette and proceeded to search the drawers for spoons.
"You look awful by the way... tea?"

"Uh, no thanks" he rubbed a hand across his brow in an effort to stop everything feeling so fuzzy.

"No tea?! Wow. You must be feeling rough" Teresa moved to the table, quizzically looking him up and down. Patrick made a start to follow but couldn't focus enough to get his legs moving the way he wanted.

Sensing his struggle, she gently took his arm and draped it across her small frame, guiding him back to his seat. She could hear the rattling in his chest, and feel the heat radiating off him. His shirt felt slightly damp and she thought he couldn't possibly be comfortable wearing his full suit while sweating so much. Leaning him back against the window she felt his face and neck. Yep, definitely a fever. Cupping her hands around his face, her eyes found his and lingered.

She kissed him on the forehead, the feel of her soft lips on his feverish skin felt good but made him shudder. Smiling gently, she insisted he take something to make him feel a little better. Feeling too exhausted to protest, he held out his hand as she popped two tablets into it.

He had a little soup but it hurt to swallow so couldn't finish it. They sat in silence for a while, Patrick trying to form some sort of coherent speech, Teresa just watching him intently. Eventually he found the words to formulate his plan, he wanted her to stage a psychic reading in order to catch the killer, just as he would usually have done. He could see by her expression that she was anxious about the prospect, but as calmly as possible he talked her through it.

"Ok, i'll do it" reluctantly she agreed, "But... if you're going to be the little voice inside my head, i'm gonna need you to be a bit more awake, go lie down for a bit and then i'll call it in".

It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.

He was practically asleep on his feet, Teresa manoeuvred him to the bed. She unbuttoned his vest, and part of his shirt and then covered him over with a blanket. He was out of it, and so infrequently was this the case that it made her smile as she watched his sleeping form, he seemed genuinely peaceful. Stroking her hand along his back, she settled next to him and just enjoyed watching.

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Half an hour later, she decided it was time to make a move. She felt bad waking him, after all he still slept so little even now that Red John was long gone.

Kissing him gently on the cheek, she whispered "hey sleepy head, time to go to work"
He groaned into his pillow, and rolled onto his front. Sniggering, Teresa got up and headed to the table again, "5 minutes" she chimed as she dialled Abbott, "Boss..."

Not fully awake, but unwilling to leave his dream state, Patrick listened to the conversation before reluctantly getting up. He was still dizzy and feeling rough, but he had to admit the drugs and sleep had made him feel at least a little better. He sat on the edge of the bed, readjusting himself and trying to do his buttons again. Teresa crouched in front of him to help and pulled him to his feet.

"How're you feeling?", she wrapped her arms around his waist and peered up at him.
"Tired, cold, hot, sore, achy" he reeled off, smirking slightly down at her and enfolding his own arms around her "tired".

"You already said tired!" She traced the lines down his face from where he'd been sleeping. There was something utterly adorable about the way they imprinted on his face.

"Well, that's because someone woke me up! He croaked, half indignantly.