Anna calls in sick for Elsa the following day. She's gotten worse, forcing Anna to pop down to the nearest pharmacy for some hydralyte and a ventolin puffer. Elsa can't take any cough medicines or anti-inflammatories – a shame for the fever – but paracetamol can still help.
Mostly she's mad about being bedridden, and Anna's not about to tell her that she likes taking care of her; how it fills a little spot in her that's been empty for years. But that's not something Elsa needs to know.
Not... not when she feels otherwise.