Lassiter finally had a day off.

Not that he wanted one.

In fact, he had initially refused to take it, but the Chief told him he was overworked and overstressed and if he didn’t the take day willingly, she could arrange a psych eval and force it on him without pay. Not being an idiot, he took the day with the pay.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He was up at 5 am like always, dressed for work down to the gun strapped to his shoulder. Sure, he might be a civilian for the day, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to bring his gun along with him.

He sat at his kitchen table, silently gulping his coffee as he read the paper, unable to stop his mind from looking through the articles for clues and connections to open cases. Finally, he gave up and tossed it aside as he downed his third cup.

He was just about to pour himself a fourth cup when the doorbell rang.

His brow furrowed almost angrily as he crossed the house to the front door. Who the hell would be bothering him at this hour?

He opened the door cautiously, his hand poised to grab his gun if he needed it.

As it turned out, he didn’t.

Standing on his front step was Mrs. Henderson and a very glum, sickly looking Ty.

"What--?" Lassiter started to demand, but Mrs. Henderson cut him off by raising her hand in the air.

"I’m sorry to bother you so early, Detective," she smiled sweetly at him. "But Benji mentioned it’s your day off, and I could really use your help. He’s not feeling well, and I can’t let him to go to school sick. His fever was 101 this morning. Would you mind if he stays here today while I’m at work?"

Lassiter blinked, trying to follow the speech, which seemed to come out as one, long run-on sentence.

Finally, he caught up.

"What?" he asked. "You want him to stay here? Sick?"

"Just for a few hours," Mrs. Henderson assured him, sensing his hesitance. "He won’t be a bother. Poor dear just needs to sleep. I would stay with him myself normally, but Derek has a soccer game I have to go to and Max has a conference with his teacher. I have to get some work done before."

"Uh--" Lassiter stammered, but before he could decline the offer, Ty’s eyes bulged out of his head and he pushed his way into the house, making a beeline straight for the bathroom.

"His tummy’s bothering him, too," Mrs. Henderson explained, clearing her throat delicately as the noises emanating from the bathroom left little the imagination. "Try to keep some fluids in him, but I wouldn’t try to feed him anything. Do you have any clear broth?"

Lassiter just stared at her as if she’d asked him to dance a polka. "Why the hell would I have clear broth?"

"Never mind," Mrs. Henderson sighed, rolling his eyes. "Just make sure he sleeps. Don’t let him get too riled up. I’ll be back in a few hours to get him. Thank you, Detective."

With another wave and an appreciative smile, she was gone.

When Ty came out of the bathroom a few minutes, looking paler and even sicklier than he had before, he collapsed onto the couch without even looking up at the detective. "Where’s Mrs. Henderson?" he moaned, stretching out to his full length.

Lassiter scowled. "She jumped ship. And don’t even think about puking on my couch."

"I won’t," Ty mumbled feebly, flopping onto his stomach, his eyes closing in misery.

Lassiter inched a nearby trash can closer to his head, just in case.

"So, what’s the game?" he asked finally, perching on the arm of the couch. "Math test?"

Ty opened one eye, looking genuinely confused. "What game?"

"What are you trying to get out of?" Lassiter pressed on, undaunted. "Why are you faking being sick? You don’t think I’m actually falling for it, do you? Hell, Spencer pulled the same crap last week."

"I’m not faking!" Ty insisted, his voice cracking under the strain of trying to speak loudly.

He suddenly grabbed the trash can and dropped his head into it as his stomach lurched again, but this time it appeared he had nothing left to spew.

Lassiter backed away a few inches.

Suddenly, his theory didn’t seem quite so valid.

He watched silently as Ty pushed the trash can away again and rolled back over onto his back, groaning in very real misery.

Swallowing a little, Lassiter settled back onto the arm of the couch, for once in his life facing a situation that all the training in the world couldn’t prepare him for.

How the hell was he supposed to know what to do with a sick kid?

He was pretty sure you didn’t feed it…mostly because Mrs. Henderson had told him not feed it.

Liquids were probably a good idea, he supposed.

Hadn’t she said something about liquids…?

He cleared his throat, looking down at the boy. "Uh…did you want some coffee?" he asked, trying to remember what other liquids he had around.

Beer and scotch were out of the question…

Milk?

Was his milk even good anymore?

Ty blinked up at him, looking somewhat amused even in the midst of his agony. "Coffee? Carl, I’m eleven. I’m not allowed to have coffee."

"You’re supposed to drink something," Lassiter told him.

"Do you have any orange juice?" Ty asked.

"Do I look like someone who drinks orange juice?" Lassiter shot back.

Ty rolled his eyes. "Water, I guess, then."

Lassiter stood up, nodding.

That made sense.

Water was a liquid.

"Water. Right."

"And can I have a blanket?" Ty added as the detective started for the kitchen.

"Blanket. Right." Lassiter paused in the doorway, turning back around. "You’re not going to--?"

"I won’t puke on it," Ty promised. "I just want to take a nap."

"Right," Lassiter agreed. "Okay, then."

He returned a few minutes later with a glass of water and a blanket. As he walked back into the living room, he saw Ty had huddled up into a tight ball on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and heavy.

Apparently, he hadn’t needed the blanket to take a nap after all.

Lassiter stood in the doorway for a moment, not quite sure what to do next.

Did he wake the kid up and make him drink the water?

Did he just leave him alone?

Ty shivered in his sleep, burrowing his face deeper into his knees. Lassiter quickly crossed the room and tossed the blanket over him. Without waking up, Ty pulled it up over his shoulders and snuggled underneath it.

Lassiter watched him for a moment, his brain straining to figure out what else he was supposed to do.

He wanted to do something.

He wanted to fix it.

He sighed, placing the water on the table and moving the trash can back next to Ty’s head, just in case.

It was all he could do for now…but maybe this time, that was enough.