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"Hey, Jules," Shawn said as he perched on her desk. "Where's Detective Sourpuss?"
"He called in sick," she replied, not even looking up from her file.
"Lassie called in sick? Did you go check on him?"
"No. Why would I check on him?"
"Jules, this is Lassiter. He never calls in sick. Don't you remember that time last year when he came in even though he had a stomach bug?"
Juliet wrinkled her nose. "I don't like thinking about that."
"Anyway, he's probably dying! Or dead already!"
"You might actually be right-"
"I always am."
Juliet ignored the interruption and continued, "But I can't check on him because I'm on duty right now. Do you think you could make sure he's ok?"
"Of course, Jules. Anything for you."
"Lassie?" Shawn called as he opened the door. "Are you in here? Are you still alive? I really don't want to find a dead body today."
A quiet groan drew him into the bedroom where Carlton was curled up under a mound of blankets. "Why are you here?" he sniffed pitifully, voice muffled by the blankets.
"Jules sent me to make sure that you were still alive. Which you clearly are - mostly - so I'll just leave."
"Wait," a pale face emerged from the cocoon, "could you stay?"
Shawn bit back a sarcastic comment at the miserable expression on the detective's face. He sighed, "Oh course. Come on, get up."
There were muffled protests as Lassie disappeared back under the blankets, but Shawn managed to drag him into the living room and drop him on the couch.
"Just stay there. I'm going to make you soup."
"But I don't have soup stuff," came the quiet voice from the shivering pile on the couch.
"I came prepared." Shawn smirked, "I suspected that you would ask me to stay."
Shawn plopped his bag of supplies on the counter and rummaged through the drawers for a durable pot. A minute later the broth was simmering and Shawn pulled a thermometer from the bag.
"Where's your head?" Shawn asked the worryingly still lump on the couch.
"What do you want?"
"I need to take your temperature."
A hand slowly snaked out of the heap, and Shawn handed the thermometer over with a sigh. A second later, Carlton made an offended noise. "This tastes like pineapple."
"I'm rolling my eyes at you," Shawn stated, returning to his soup.
The soup was warm by the time the thermometer beeped, and Shawn returned to the couch with a large bowl. "What does it say?" Instead of responding, Carlton handed the thermometer back. "100," Shawn read. "That's not too bad. Now come on. Sit up. I have soup."
Lassiter reluctantly moved so that he could take the bowl. "I feel awful," he croaked.
Shawn slipped a DVD into the player and then plopped down beside him. "That's why I made you soup." He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, playing Carlton's favorite cop movie.
After finishing the (fantastic) soup, Lassie set down the bowl. He hesitated for a moment before cuddling into Shawn's side. "Thanks for coming."
Shawn grinned, carding his fingers through the detective's hair. "I couldn't just let you be sick all alone. Plus my soup has magic healing abilities, so you'll be back at work in no time."
"I love you," Carlton yawned.
"I love you, too."