Sick

He finds her curled up on her side, looking tiny beneath the thick mountain of the comforter, knees probably pulled up close to her chest. Her hair is flung across the pillow, dull and knotted and he sits down on the edge of the bed, carefully runs his fingertips through the tangled mass. She whimpers a little, a pitiful sound that makes his heart ache, but she turns her head, seeking his touch. His thumb smooths at her temple, then her forehead, pushing away a few damp strands of hair matted to her skin. She's sweaty to the touch, her skin burning up but she shivers at his caress. Her eyes come open slowly, as if it's a momentous effort to even lift her lids, and it probably is. She blinks at him, her pupils bright with fever.

"I don't feel so good," she croaks, the ends of her words swallowed by her stuffy nose, and if he didn't feel so bad for her, he'd find her utterly adorable. She has the flu, a full-on, lie-down-and-feel-like-dying flu, there's no longer any doubt.

"I brought you some tea." He lifts the mug in his other hand and she stares at it for a moment, and then she shifts her knees around, struggling to lift up on her elbows. He wraps an arm around her shoulder blades, helping her sit up and carrying at least half her weight as she rests limply against him but she bravely reaches for the mug and takes a careful sip and winces.

"Careful, still hot," he cautions, and she looks up at him over the rim of the mug, lifts an eyebrow.

"I would hope so," she smirks, her weak efforts at normalcy followed by a coughing fit that has him grabbing for the cup, rescuing the hot liquid before it spills over her hands. Kate sags against him, utterly spent, but he guides the mug to her lips, makes her take a few more sips to calm her throat and get some fluids in her.

"Do you need anything else," he asks as he places the tea on the nightstand and helps her lie back down, huddling her blankets tightly around her slim, shivering body. "Cough drops? More blankets? Ibuprofen? Hot water bottle? Cool wraps?" He lists whatever he can think of, rambling on just so that he doesn't feel so wholly helpless. But she just shakes her head, her eyes already pinched closed.

He straightens her comforter once more and tries to get up, but her hand sneaks out from under the blankets, wrapping fiercely around his wrist.

"Stay," she whimpers, tugging on his arm. "Stay. Need you."

So he crawls around her, sliding beneath the layer of blankets to draw her against him. Kate rolls to her side, instinctively seeking him. He tugs her closer, his arms around her as she cuddles close, limp and spent in his arms. She curls in her knees once more, the patellas pushing sharply into his stomach, and beads of sweat roll down his temple from the warmth under the blanket and the heat that emanates from her body but he doesn't care.

Nowhere else he'd rather be.