The sore throat comes first. He gets another cup of tea and thinks no. The ache starts around his eye, and he thinks no, not again, NO. The pressure builds across his cheekbones and in his forehead, damn it all, his throat goes from raw to burning, oh, bloody hell, and then, once everything already hurts and it will be really excruciating, the sneezing starts.
Sam's brisk and matter-of-fact as always. Not your fault and drink this and ten more minutes in the steam and leave those here to soak. Still, when his noise wakes her up for the second time in one night he croaks out another apology. "Gone from looking after your mother to looking…" He loses the rest of the sentence in a thunderous sneeze.
"Bless. Shh." Sam hugs him from behind. "This winter's already better than last, and December shouldn't even count, you shook it off so quickly." She reaches up to rub the spot over his left eye where the pressure gathers. "You ought to get a medal for this bit," she says in his ear.
He catches her hand and brings it to his lips. "You ought to get a medal for this bit."