Ham Tyler turned his most thunderous scowl on his employees as they sat in conference around a large square oak table.

"What's the matter?" he demanded, "Haven't you ever seen anybody sneeze before?"

Everybody started talking at once, and he sighed, suppressing an urge to cough as he did so.  Tyler thought then that he must hate the winter time most of al.  While his staff could drop like flies with every flu, cold, or exotic disease going around, he had to remain in a God-like state of immunity: invulnerable, inviolate, impervious.  Not once in the four years he'd been in this business had he ever had a day off due to illness.  It was a small fact, but widely discussed in the staff room, and he knew that each winter a book was being kept on the chances of Ham Tyler coming down with the latest bug.  A bug, any bug, a sniffle, even.  The common cold was the odds-on favourite at the moment, but the lethal Hong Kong flue that seemed to have knocked down half the population of Seattle this year was a hot contender, and several other strains of flu going around were in the running, not to mention the latest side effect from the Toxin used against the Visitors 5 or so years ago.  Tyler found it vaguely disturbing that his staff should want to spend their leisure hours contemplating what dreadful disease he was likely to contract each year.

As the chatter died away he cleared his throat to speak and only just succeeded in suppressing a violent coughing fit.  He glared around the table as if it was all their fault and forced everyone to lower his or her eyes -- except Chris, who grinned knowingly.  Tyler had broken into a sweat.  At the same time the room suddenly became unbearably cold, and he knew he couldn't put it off much longer.

"Next item," he said into the quiet, "New clients.  Reports?"

Chris lounged back in his chair.  "Yeah," he drawled.  "But ahm havin' a few problems with it."

Most of the group looked surprised at such an admission, and Tyler's eyebrows rose.  "Such as?"

"Well, it's a quasi-government thing.  You know how these guys are -- all cloak an' dagger, they don't know any other way to operate.  They want to see the head honcho."

Tyler was shaking his head.  "I don't have time, Chris.  Surely... "

"Nope, I tried the old 'I AM the head honcho' routine, and somehow they didn't buy it."

Tyler sighed.  "Let's have some idea of the assignment."

Chris snorted.  "I don't think THEY know.  From what I could gather they're a branch of the CIA.  Assignment would almost certainly be a military objective, definitely international.  Could be worth something -- we could make it worth something."  There was a rustle around the rom and a quiet buzz of excitement.  Chris added, "I think we should set up a meeting ASAP.  This sort of thing don't wait."

"Okay, Thelma, put it on the agenda for tomorrow, and rearrange my schedule.  I may be gone several days.  Davis?"  A woman of about fourty looked up.  "You'll have to deal with the Burgess assignment solo.  Butler?  Ditto your Mannheim case.   You may both draw on extra personnel as required."

There were acknowledging 'sirs' from the group.

How he got through the remainder of the day's briefing session, Tyler did not know, and the day itself seemed to drag on and on with a hundred inconsequential items to take care of.  At 2:30 he gave up in disgust and tried to breeze out of the office with some air of authenticity.
 

"Out here!" a faint voice replied.  Tyler clomped down the back stairs and onto the verandah which overlooked their 2 hectares of mostly untamed land.  He grunted as he spotted his wife, head down bum up in the vegetable patch.  Around her, like a cloud of bees, buzzed her two children and the usual assortment of animals: the ever-present duo of German Shepherds; half a dozen wild cats who only made an appearance when Alex was outside and of who both dogs were properly respectful after initial introductions; a flock of ducks hovered about with their ducklings, which the cats were eyeing thoughtfully from time to time; and three tame fairy penguins waddled happily amongst it all, a legacy from Alex's time with the Seattle zoo.  Each animal looked perfectly at home with its adopted human, and the same could be said for the human herself, who seemed unaware of the chaos around her as she pulled happily at the one and a half metre high weeds in their 'garden'.

Tyler leaned heavily against the wooden doorframe, finding that he was unable to summon the necessary strength to walk the 200 metres.  CT and a toddling David spied him and came barrelling up to greet him in their usual manner.  Even at four years of age, CT was more than a handful and Tyler had to raise his voice more than he intended to create a pocket of silence.

"Your father's not well," he explained into the quiet in a more reasonable voice.  CT looked curiously at him.

"You mean... sick?  Like in a cold?"

"Yeth."  It was a difficult admission, and he doubled over with another coughing fit to verify it.  Alarmed, CT took off at a dead run to her mother and almost dragged the startled Alex back to take charge of the situation.

"Daddy's sick," she announced, as if this should make everything clear.

Alex took one look at Tyler, dispatched David to make sure that none of the animals who had trailed her to the door killed each other, dispatched CT to make sure none of the animals killed him in the process, and turned her full attention to her new patient.  Ham Tyler looked a picture of misery as he leaned against the doorframe, sniffing occasionally, shivering and coughing.

"Head cold?" Alex enquired sweetly.

"I'm dying, can't you see that?" he muttered, thinking that Alex had never shown any tendency to mother him when he really HAD been on the critical list, let alone during the intervening years.  It was a slightly unfair assessment, he knew, but he didn't care.  A man needed a little sympathy now and then, you know, and around here the best you could hope for was to stand in line behind every denomination of animal and wait it out.

As if reading his thoughts, Alex smiled and slid an arm around his waist, making a big show of helping him inside.

"It's not nice being sick, is it?" she soothed, and despite the sense of being patted on the head, Tyler felt curiously gratified.  He must be worse than he thought.

"Well, I am," he said gruffly, and sniffed.  He let Alex guide him to the bedroom, toe the door shut, relieve him of his coat, tie, shoulder holster, knives, and body armour, and put him to bed.

"I think it's the Asian Flu," he said as Alex tucked him in and took orders for soup.  "I was in Hong Kong last week -- it's going around."

"Mmmmm."  Alex resisted the urge to produce a thermometer and offer to take his temperature, and settled for feeling his forehead.  "Warm," she admitted.  "Let's see your tongue... er, yuk.  Okay, you're sick.  I'll tell Jeremi to drop off at the chemists on the way for surgery tonight."  She patted his cheek reassuringly.  "Get you fixed up."

"Woof."

"Don't be like that or I really will take your temperature -- my way."

Tyler tried to scowl at her but only succeeded in looking pathetic.  He shifted restlessly in the bed.  "I ache everywhere," he complained peevishly, "and my head's killing me.  AND I'm cold."

Alex knew better than to laugh.  She assumed an expression of deep concern and knelt by the bed to rub vigorously at his arms and chest, until he complained that it hurt there, too.

"You don't care."

"Of course I do.  Now.  Before you slip into a fevered delirium and possibly coma, tell me where you're supposed to be this time."

"Washington."

"Washington?  That's pretty tame, isn't it?"

"Chris's idea," he mumbled, "and anyway, places like the Andes were getting too suspicious."

Alex shook her head and gave him a kiss on the forehead before getting to her feet.  "I may be just a humble vet, Ham, but it seems to me there's got to be easier ways to take a bit of sick leave."

She swept out of the room to fix the soup -- Cup-A-Soup, of course -- and as Tyler squirmed around in the bed trying to find a comfortable position, he privately agreed.  But it didn't worry him too much.  Right now he was looking forward to a bit of TLC, a cup of chicken noodle soup and the late afternoon movie.  Taking a well-earned break from the stress of the past few months, and the need to maintain an iron grip on his traitorous body, Tyler snuggled down into the blankets, thumbed the TV's remote control and gave a small sigh.

It could be tough being Clarence Hamilton Tyler all the time...
 

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