Hawaii Five-0 is property of CBS and its creators.

A/N: This little piece of fluff was inspired by yesterday's meme on our meme-a-day calendar: My cold is worse than yours because it's happening to me. Oh, the possibilities! I just couldn't leave it be, so this was born. In my world, Steve and Danny are in a relationship, but it doesn't have to be read that way. It could be slash, pre-slash, friendship, whatever you want.

"I'm dying," Danny Williams moaned.

Steve McGarrett looked over to where his partner was huddled on Steve's couch, blanket securely wrapped around him so only his head was peeking out. "You are not dying," Steve told him.

"Yes, I am," Danny said adamantly, punctuating his statement with a sneeze followed by a coughing fit.

"It's just a little cold," Steve said. "I had the same thing last week, and you didn't hear me moaning about how I was dying."

Danny sneezed again. "My cold's worse than yours."

"No, it's not," Steve said.

"Yes, it is," Danny insisted.

"How do you figure that?"

"Because it's happening to me."

"That makes no sense," Steve argued. "It's like saying your bullet wound is worse than mine because it's happening to you."

"Now that makes no sense," Danny said, then went into another coughing fit.

Steve went upstairs and retrieve some cough syrup from the bathroom. He carried the small cup of liquid down to Danny. "Drink."

Danny made a face. "Don't wanna," he said, sounding for all the world like a petulant child. Which, Steve thought, was a pretty apt comparison right now. Danny was driving him crazy with all his complaining.

Steve shrugged. "Fine, if you want to be miserable, it makes no difference to me."

Danny glared at the cup as if it were going to bite him, then reluctantly picked it up and tossed the liquid down in one swift motion. "Happy now?"

"Very." Steve said. "Now, get some sleep."

"Bossy, much?" Danny said, but he obediently lay down. Steve tucked the covers snugly around him and resisted the urge to kiss him on the forehead.

"There," Steve said, satisfied. "Take it easy, and I'll check on you in a while."

Danny muttered something incoherent and was out before Steve left the room.

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While Danny slept, Steve busied himself checking e-mail and attending to some long overdue paperwork. Normally, he'd make Danny do it, but his partner was down for the count, and the governor was breathing down Steve's neck, wanting the reports. Steve kept an ear out for Danny, in case the other man needed him, but all he heard was the sound of Danny breathing. Steve had to admit it did sound a little rattley, and he was mildly concerned, not that he'd ever tell Danny. They should really try to do something to ease the congestion.

When Steve heard Danny stirring, he went into the kitchen, filled a saucepan with water, dropped in some sprigs of rosemary, and put it on to boil. Then, he went to check on Danny. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm still dying," Danny said.

Steve sighed. "No, you're not, I promise."

Danny glared at him with red, watery eyes. "How do you know? I could have pneumonia. Or bronchitis." His statement was followed by the worst coughing fit yet.

"You don't have pneumonia or bronchitis," Steve said, with more confidence than he felt. The coughing was pretty bad. Danny could have a point, but Steve wasn't ready to admit it was more than a minor cold. Steve shoved the saucepan at Danny. "Here. Breathe."

Danny took one whiff and wrinkled his nose. "What's that?"

"Hot water with rosemary. It's good for the congestion."

"No. No, no, no. Just no. It's disgusting."

"I'd think it'd remind you of your mother's cooking."

"No. Cooking is basil and oregano and tomatoes coming from a gently bubbling pot on the stove. Not-" he poked in the direction of the pan, "—that."

Steve shoved the saucepan further under his nose. "Just breathe it, okay, Danny?" His voice softened. "Please. It'll help, I promise."

"Fine." Danny leaned over the saucepan and took a deep breath. Once again, he was overcome by coughing.

Steve sat next to his partner and rubbed soothing circles on his back, waiting for the fit to subside. "Take it easy, Danny. Just breathe." Danny drew in several ragged breaths between coughs. "There you go."

The coughing fit didn't ease, though. After about 10 minutes, Steve began to get worried. After 20, he was approaching full-blown panic. Maybe Danny was right—not about the dying, but at least about the bronchitis. "Buddy, I hate to say it, but I think we'd better get you to the hospital."

He expected at least a token protest, but Danny just nodded. "I think that's a good idea," he managed to gasp out.

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At the hospital, Steve helped Danny into a seat in the ER waiting room and went to check in. "My partner's having trouble breathing," he told the woman at the desk.

"Where is he?" she asked.

Steve pointed to where Danny was still coughing. "Over there."

"We'll get him right in." She gave Steve a clipboard. "Fill these out."

Since Danny was incapacitated, Steve filled out the forms. By this time, Steve knew all the information practically by heart, he'd had to fill it out so many times when Danny had been injured. That, Steve supposed, was a sad commentary on their life.

Steve hadn't even finished the forms when Danny was called. He led his partner into the cubicle. "It's okay, Danny, they're going to take good care of you." He hoped. At this point, Steve was talking to himself as much as to Danny.

The doctor listened as Steve went over Danny's systems (not that those weren't obvious since Danny still seemed determined to cough up a lung) and how long they'd last. He listened to Danny's lungs, then made his pronouncement. "I'm going to order a breathing treatment to try and open up those airways, as well as bloodwork and chest x-rays to see if why can find out what's going on."

Steve waited impatiently while Danny was whisked off for the various tests and treatments. Finally, Danny was wheeled back into the waiting room. Steve was very relieved to see he had stopped coughing and looked like he was breathing easier. "How do you feel, buddy?"

Danny took several deep breaths. "Better. At least I can breathe without coughing. Can we get out of here now?"

Steve patted his hand as he settled in one of the waiting room chairs. "Sorry, buddy. We gotta wait for your results."

Danny leaned back and closed his eyes. "Wake me when they call me."

Steve idly flipped through a magazine while Danny dozed, his head somehow ending up on the SEAL's shoulder. Steve ran his fingers through Danny's hair, enjoying the feel of it. For once, it wasn't glued in place with product (Danny had been feeling too sick to style it), and it was soft and silky to the touch. The motion was soothing to Steve as well as (he hoped) to Danny, and he was just considering dozing off himself when the doctor called them.

Steve nudged Danny. "Come on, buddy, wake up."

Danny startled awake and looked blearily at Steve. "Hunh?"

"They have your test results. Let's go."

Steve and Danny were led into a cubicle where a doctor met them. "What's up, doc?" Danny quipped. Steve glared at him.

The doctor either didn't get or ignored Danny's attempt at humor. He flipped through Danny's chart. "Well, it looks like you've got quite an impressive case of bronchitis."

Danny shot a triumphant look at Steve that clearly said "I told you so." Steve ignored it and focused on the doctor.

"Will he have to be admitted?" Danny's face fell at the thought.

"Not at this time. I'm prescribing antibiotics, an inhaled steroid, albuterol for acute episodes like the one he had, and some cough syrup with codeine. If he adheres to this regimen, he should be fine in a couple of weeks."

"Great," Danny said. "Can I go home now?"

"Yes, you're free to go."

Steve gathered up Danny's prescriptions and led the detective to the car. He noticed Danny smirking at him. "What?"

"I told you my cold was worse than your cold."

Steve just sighed.