A/N: First, I *adore* feedback- it brightens my day and makes my muses giggle :) Second, this is a tag to The Hot Potato Job. With her diet of cereal and fortune cookies, I can easily see Parker falling prey to a determined germ (and it would have to be quite determined to overcome her crazy) especially if she's been freezing herself in a -20 c freezer. Time for some TLC, Eliot-style! Continues in my 'Friends' universe, but isn't a sequel. Minor language- anyone dealing with a cranky Parker would be driven to cursing, or homicide.

"Go away!" Parker shouted through her thick steel door, or at least she tried to shout. What actually came out was a congested whine that did nothing to alleviate her ill humor. It did, however, succeed in making the pounding on her door stop. She turned to shuffle back to her bed when a faint scratching noise had her spinning back around, tensing aching muscles as she reviewed which of her exits she could easily reach. Parker knew that sound- it was lock picks manipulating the tumblers of her door lock, and whoever held them was good. Not in her league, granted, but good enough that the latch clicked over before she'd gotten more than halfway across her living space; what stopped her, though, was the familiar-accented curse that drifted through the door when her would-be burglar discovered that she had invested in an old-fashioned door bar as well.

"Damn it Parker, open this door!" Eliot banged on the door again in aggravation. Paranoid, thick-headed thief! He heard another refusal, this time sounding like she was standing just on the other side. "Don't make me take this door down, you know I will," he threatened. Best that he could tell, it was only an inch and a half of steel, which would easily give way to a bit of plastic explosive. Eliot waited patiently for Parker to weigh her options; he'd get nowhere if he actually had to force her into accepting help.

Parker leaned her head against the cool steel of her door for a moment. If she opened the door, then she'd have to put up with someone else in her living space, telling her what to do. If she didn't open the door, then she'd still have all that, plus a busted door and pissed off Eliot to boot. Parker heaved a heavy sigh and flipped up the door bar to allow him in before heading back to her bed and nest of blankets. She knew from hard experience that Eliot wouldn't give up once he'd decided that she needed help.

Eliot grumbled as he wrestled the door open and entered, "Thanks for helping, Parker. Don't mind me, I'll be fine!" Plastic shopping bags rustled and Parker's head popped up from the mound of bedding to investigate. He had to smother a grin at the sight- even sick she was still as curious as a kitten. A heavy spate of coughing killed his grin and he turned to relock and bar the door. Parker was as serious about security as he was, in her own way, and she'd never rest easy without being locked inside. In the cities their team had moved to, he'd seen her apartments and still marveled at how she had very nearly turned them all into secure vaults- one entry with multiple barricades, no windows, steel-reinforced concrete shell from being an industrial building, and all her escape exits were one-way: out. "Got it locked and barred, you want me to throw the bolts too?" he asked, just to be sure. The pile of blankets she'd burrowed back into seemed to nod, so he turned the wheel set in the middle of the door to send long bolts into their housing, two to each edge of the door.

Parker tracked his footsteps over to her kitchen and heard him snort softly at her setup. She had to surface then to grab more tissues, unsuccessfully trying to blow her nose, and saw him simply standing, bags still in hand. "What's wrong?" she managed to call over, still congested and not happy with his scrutiny.

"You call this a kitchen? It's a sink and hotplate, Parker!" Eliot scolded. She had a refrigerator and wire shelves for groceries, two incredibly battered saucepans, and a skillet which still had the store tags on it; far less than even an efficiency kitchen had, and he had little wonder why the woman had caught a nasty cold. No fresh food, sugary cereal, and a disdain for healthy greens left her immune system desperately thin, which displeased him.

Parker started to reply, sneezed mightily, and glared at him. "If you don't like it, there's the door," she grumped, pointing the way out. She couldn't breathe properly, her head hurt, her muscles ached, and she just wanted to sleep for a week. "You don't have to be here, I'm not injured," Parker tried another way of getting him out.

"No, you're sick," Eliot stated and walked over to crouch beside her bed, "and I ain't gonna leave you to your own devices again." He remembered just how sick she'd gotten after her swan dive off the Embassy's balcony into a filthy river. The entire time they were in Belgrade, she never mentioned the fever she was running, or how badly she felt. She'd gone straight back to LA while the rest of the team vacationed and shopped in Paris, and Eliot hadn't even known that she was sick. He'd only found out bits and pieces of how bad it was when she was concussed and rambling in the Caymans, but it was enough to alarm him.

Parker threw a wadded up tissue at him and flipped the covers back over her head. Maybe if she ignored him long enough he'd leave? "You don't throw tissues at people, Parker, that's nasty!" she heard him scold through the muffling layers of cotton. Rustling as he stood was then followed by banging in her kitchen area. He sounded annoyed with her, but not ready to leave. She huffed in exasperation and set off another deep coughing fit which felt like her lungs were trying to come out. Parker giggled a little, once she could breathe again, at the image in her head of her lungs fluttering through the air like giant red bats. A clang beside her bed drew her back out of her dark space and she peeked over to see Eliot set down a trash can.

"You put your tissues in here, Parker, understand me?" he waited until she nodded her head in agreement. While she had her head out from under the covers, Eliot took the opportunity to brandish a digital thermometer in her face. "This goes under your tongue until it beeps," he instructed, popping it in her mouth before she could disagree, and turned to pick up the disgusting mountain of used tissues she'd dropped on the floor.

Parker made a grimace of distaste. Thermometers were for babies! She plucked the thermometer back out of her mouth and watched the display's countdown with fascination. Eliot retrieved the device from her hands, reset it, and stuck it back in her mouth, adding a glare for good measure. Parker again removed the offending device and glared at her friend.

Eliot looked back up from crawling under her bed to grab the last tissue and had to resist yelling at her. She definitely had a fever, flushed cheeks on a pale face and overly bright eyes, but he needed to know how bad it was. He took a breath and tried to speak calmly, "Parker, either that goes under your tongue the easy way, or I take your temperature the hard way and stick it some place really unpleasant." Eliot held her gaze the entire time, making sure she understood that he was serious about the threat. He wouldn't ever hurt her, Parker knew, but she also knew better than to think that he wouldn't follow through. The thermometer was reset again and parked back under her tongue. Eliot kept watch for the handful of seconds until it beeped, and then accepted it back from a temporarily subdued Parker. "Okay, that's not too good, but not too bad either. I got some medicine for you to take," he explained as he stood to collect the one bag he hadn't unpacked from the kitchen.

Despite her reservations about taking medication, Parker sat up properly to see what he'd brought. She'd missed his unpacking the other bags and could see new food items on her shelf; nasty healthy stuff, most likely, as she couldn't readily identify it all. Eliot pushed a bit of bedding aside so that he could sit on the edge of the bed facing her and Parker obligingly moved over a little even as she tried to peer into the bag in his hand. He grinned a little at her actions, and upended the bag to spill its contents on the blankets.

"You have a choice," Eliot explained as he neatened up the pile, "I got liquid cold medicine, pills, and…" he paused as Parker vehemently shook her head in refusal. His grin broadened a bit as he held up her third and final option, "And, if you really want to fight me on this, I also got syringes and intravenous meds which I guarantee you won't enjoy the side effects to."

"I don't want any of it, Eliot!" Parker burst out, trying to throw the bottles off her bed, but was thwarted by Eliot's quick catches. The fever wasn't doing her any favors and had slowed her down, making it easier for him. "I just want to be left alone. I can take care of myself!" she thumped back against her pillows and had to stop for another coughing fit. Eliot brought over a glass of water, leaving the medicines safely on her tiny kitchen table, and handed it to her once she could breathe again.

He leaned forward enough to catch her eye, "I know you can look out for yourself, hon, but the thing about friends is that we don't just help out when you're bleeding. You're sick, probably feel like you've been run over a few times, and shouldn't have to look after yourself. Let me help. We can probably get you back up and stealing in a few days, rather than the week or more it would take you by yourself." Eliot made sure to bury his irritation with her and only show compassion, which he knew that she could somewhat recognize. He needed her to cooperate with him, not retreat or stonewall.

Parker picked at a loose thread on her blanket as she thought. Eliot had patched her up several times and it had hurt, but he had never hurt her, and she did trust him. She hated to have anyone around when she wasn't strong, but he'd never told the others when she'd been weak. She shivered with a chill and, as he pulled her blanket up for her, nodded. "Yeah, fine, I'll take the pills. Cold medicine tastes too yucky."

Eliot finished tucking her in and stood, "Then I'll make you a light lunch because the pills need to be taken with food or they'll make you sick." Only after he'd turned to head back into the kitchen did he allow himself to smirk. He'd banked on her choosing the pills over the admittedly rancid-tasting liquid medicine and had brought extra-strength doses. He knew that she'd never willingly finish a course of treatment and figured that he'd need to do the most good in the short amount of time that he'd have her cooperation. The intravenous meds, however, were a worst-case backup as they did have rather brutal side effects.

Seeing the state of her kitchen, he was glad that he'd brought a container of the chicken soup he'd made last night. All he had to do was dump it into the small saucepan Parker had and warm it up on the hotplate. He scrubbed one of her cereal bowls and a spoon while the soup heated and made a mental note of what all he'd need to bring with him if he ever had to treat her here again. Her last apartment hadn't been as bad as this one, and he didn't know why she… oh. Parker didn't need a big kitchen because she usually ate at Nate's, cereal or Eliot's cooking. She didn't need a lot of supplies because Eliot usually treated her back at his safe houses, where all his medical supplies were. She also didn't need electronics because she usually watched movies with Hardison and Sophie. Parker didn't need a lot, personally, because she'd finally decided to depend on her teammates. Eliot remained in quiet contemplation as he poured soup into the newly cleaned bowl and sprinkled a bit of dried red pepper on top. Her throat wouldn't thank her, but he knew that she wouldn't touch the soup without the bit of bright decoration.

Parker sat up and pulled a pillow onto her lap to serve as a table as she watched Eliot carefully bring the bowl over to her. They both waited out a coughing fit, followed by a thorough nose blowing, before he surrendered both bowl and spoon. "Pretty!" she enthused, poking at the red bits floating around on the surface.

"Gotta eat that, Parker," Eliot instructed as he walked to the sink to refill her water glass and grab a dose of pills on his way back. He waited for her to actually eat a little of the soup before he crouched back down to hand her the pills. "Antibiotic to clear up the infection settling in your chest, cough suppressant, and one to help you get a good night's sleep," Parker looked mulishly at the third pill, so he explained, "If you don't sleep well then you won't be able to get rid of the cold. I'll watch over you, Parker, I promise. Nothing's gettin' in here to hurt you."

She considered, then nodded and downed the three large pills. The soup quickly disappeared as she hadn't had anything to eat all day, not feeling good enough to get to Nate's, and Eliot took away the bowl and spoon. "Go get washed up and ready for bed," Eliot encouraged her, knowing that he'd have to get her settled before the sedative kicked in and would rather let her think that she fell asleep naturally than just passed out.

Parker moved off to her bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face; she felt grimy from the fever sweat and wanted to feel clean. Ablutions finished, she slumped back to bed, more worn-out than a simple trip to the bathroom should have made her. She did give Eliot a smile in gratitude when she saw that, while she was cleaning up, he'd untangled her bedding and remade her bed. Bunny had even been rescued from the crack between mattress and headboard and sat proudly on her pillow waiting for her. "Thanks, Eliot," Parker managed as she slid between the sheets and cuddled into her blanket, bunny tucked beneath her chin. She knew that she sucked at thanking people, and made a mental note to steal something Eliot would like as a thank you gift. She was sure she'd find something other than cash, which always belonged to her- a new knife, a hat, or even a big stick to whack people with… Without realizing it, Parker drifted off to sleep, a tiny grin on her lips.

Eliot quietly ate the rest of the soup for his own dinner and cleaned up after himself. He had some prepping to do if he wanted to figure out how to make grilled chicken and pasta using only the pans Parker owned, but the challenge was part of the joy of cooking for him. With the doses he planned to use, Parker should be back on her feet within a couple of days and he could switch to hiding lower doses in her portion of whatever he served the team at Nate's. Sneaky? Absolutely- Parker had approved of the plan back when they were dosing Nate with painkillers after he'd been shot in the bank, and turnabout was always fair play in Eliot's book.