"You have a cold."
"But I feel warm."
"Yeah I know; you're running a little temperature, nothing too serious and it's called a cold because . . . I don't know. It just is. Anyway, this means we're staying home and letting you rest up while I catch it from you because let's face it, I'm going to just as a matter of course."
"No. I won't infect you. I'll simply isolate myself until it passes."
"The hell you will, Caine!"
"I've done it before with other illnesses."
"Well you're not going to this time. I'm going to make you my aunt's solyanka which will totally clear your sinuses and then we're parking ourselves in bed and watching a Doctor Who Marathon for a few days. Come on."
"But . . . but it's nothing, it will p-p-p-aCHOO!"
"Here, Kleenex. Wipe your nose. Okay, get this straight. I am your queen and I value you. Like, a lot. So much so that I need you to do what I'm asking to heal up, all right? You need TLC and soup and long naps because those are gonna to help you get better much faster than toughing it out on some bunk somewhere. I know what I'm talking about so please, Caine, do what I say."
"MmmmmgrrrrYesssss, your majesty."
"I'm going to let that sulky look pass this time because I know you're feeling bad. Go take a hot bath and by the time you're out the soup will be ready."
"A bath?"
-oo00oo-
"I'm not sure how this . . . garment works."
"Um, a snuggie isn't a garment. It's just a blanket with sleeves. Come here . . . see? You can be covered and still have your arms free."
"I need my arms free at all times to defend you."
"Well this is one of the times you don't, so lie down. Here's your soup, and I expect you do finish it."
"Because it's . . . good for me?"
"Yes, and I made too much of it."
"Why are you having chocolate?"
"Because I'm not sick. Yet."
"When may I have chocolate?"
"After the soup, so eat up. A spoon . . or, okay, yeah, you can just tip it into your mouth if you like . . .whoah, whoah, slow down, you'll spill it all over the snuggie . . ."
"Done. Chocolate?"
"On top of two quarts of solyanka?"
"My metabolism is constructed for maximum efficiency."
"Ookay, yeah. Although the mix of flavors sounds kinda gross . . ."
"I will bear it. Chocolate?"
"Okay, okay, but don't blame me if you go from cold to stomach ache."
-oo00oo-
"Why is it always the same howl?"
"Because the sound effects in these old movies were cheap, I guess. They only recorded the one howl because it was scary."
"But it's not scary. She's calling the pack to a fresh kill, to come and eat."
"Wait a minute. So what you're saying that we're watching Dracula, which is supposed to be all spooky-like, and in the background, the wolf mom is basically calling everyone home to dinner?"
"Yes."
"That is so not scary now. It's actually pretty damned funny. Hey, did your stomach just rumble?"
". . . yes."
"God you're so cute. Okay, we can order a pizza, I guess."
-oo00oo-
"Still pretty warm. You ought to try and get some sleep."
"I will . . . rest."
"Sleep. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm being a burden."
"Shush. I'll tell you a story if you'd like. It's about a girl who cleaned waaay too many toilets before she found herself whisked off to a ballroom in the skies by a flying prince. Only he was the one with the magical footwear."
"I know this story. There were three evil siblings."
"Yes. And a fairy godfather with a lot of bees and a bad attitude. You can laugh but it's true, you know it is."
"And there was a ship, full of loyal servants?"
"Absolutely. And two of the siblings got their asses kicked big-time, leaving the girl to be a queen and take care of her sick wolf-prince who really ought to be closing his eyes and getting some sleeeeep."
"It's a wonderful story."
"It is, and the ending's getting better all the time. Now go. To. sleep."