Day 18 – "Wear your coat, you'll catch a cold."

Moffitt was tired of waiting for a break in the weather before going out for a trail ride. That autumn consisted of nothing but rain, rain, and more rain, and he was far beyond tired of it. He grumbled to himself about the weather as he marched into his bedroom, where Vanora was sorting a basket of freshly cleaned laundry.

"Oh, someone's a bit crabby," Vanora said, glancing at her husband. "Are you alright, love?"

"I'm going out for a ride," Moffitt muttered. "Not waiting for this rotten weather anymore."

"It's really cold out, Jack. Are you sure about this?"

"I'm positive. I'm bored, and I'm sure Snowstripe is, too."

"Don't you have a bunch of books that you need to finish reading?"

"I do, but I would like to get out of the bloody house for a bit."

Vanora sighed. "Alright, love. Just make sure you wear a coat so you don't catch another cold."

Moffitt wasn't fully listening as he changed into his riding clothes. He was far more concerned with getting out and taking that ride than dressing for the weather, and went outside in a light raincoat rather than his heavier winter jacket. It was a relief to be in the stables and spending time with Snowstripe, his Arabian mount from the Scots Greys.

"I'm not waiting anymore," Moffitt said. "I want to ride, and I'm sure you would enjoy the exercise."

The horse nickered at him as Moffitt began putting his tack on.

I should've at least put gloves on, Moffitt thought while adjusting Snowstripe's saddle pad. His hands were shaking and gradually starting to hurt as he continuing prepping his horse for their ride. He was shivering a little while climbing into Snowstripe's saddle, but still determined to go out. Nothing would stop him, not even the bitter cold and the seemingly perpetual rain.

Despite being a horse bred for desert conditions, Snowstripe handled the weather far better than Moffitt ever could. The horse was even giving concerned glances to his rider as they went along their usual route. The slightest shiver couldn't get past Snowstripe's keen senses. Eventually, Snowstripe turned around without Moffitt's instructions.

"Where are you going?" Moffitt asked. "That's the wrong way, Snowstripe, turn back around." He gently pulled the reins, trying to get Snowstripe to turn. "Come on, for heaven's sake…" Moffitt sighed. "Snowstripe! Turn around, please!"

But Snowstripe made it clear he wasn't listening today.

"Bloody hell." Moffitt was tempted to drop the reins, but refused to, even though it seemed he was now just a passenger. "Where are you taking me, Snowstripe?"

A few minutes later, they arrived back at the house.

"Oh, really? You can't seriously be cold, are you?"

Snowstripe kept walking.

Moffitt sighed again. "I'm not cold, you know."

Now Snowstripe looked at him, wearing as close to an expression of disbelief as a horse could get.

"It's a little bit cold."

Snowstripe snorted before coming to a stop in front of the stables.

"I can tell you're trying to tell me something." Moffitt dismounted from the horse. "Fine. At least we got to ride for a little bit today." He removed Snowstripe's tack, then put a blanket over the horse before turning him out to graze in the pasture. "Please don't get this blanket muddy. Please. I would like to not wash it for the third time this week."

After making sure the gate was closed, Moffitt headed back to the house. With Snowstripe not watching, Moffitt hugged his chest and put his hands under his arms in a vain attempt to get warm. He shivered badly, and his hands hurt with cold. I can't really feel my fingertips anymore. This calls for a hot cup of tea.

He entered the house to find Vanora sewing up a hole in one of her shirts. "Hello, darling," he said.

"Hello, Jack," Vanora said, not looking up from her work. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did."

"I told you to wear your coat, didn't I?"

Moffitt bit his lip. "W-Well, I—"

"You're not allowed to complain if you wake up with a cold tomorrow."

"I'll be perfectly fine, darling, you'll see." Moffitt kissed Vanora's forehead.

All was not perfectly fine the following morning.

Moffitt awoke to the sound of more rain and a harsh and painful rasping in his lungs. He tried taking in a breath, and broke into a fit of coughing. I'll be fine once I have my tea. And a spoonful of honey. He pulled on a pair of thick black socks and his softest robe before getting out of bed. It's so bloody cold.

The smell of tea made him feel a little better, but his throat and chest ached badly. Vanora's going to say that she told me so if she finds out I'm not all that well. Moffitt stood straight and tried to look somewhat normal when his wife came out of the bedroom. He realized he probably couldn't talk normally, and so he frantically tried to find an excuse not to talk at all. When Vanora was distracted, Moffitt took the telephone off its hook, pretending he was listening to someone talk. A desire to cough was building in his chest and working its way up his throat. He tried to play it off as clearing his throat.

"Jack, what are you doing?" Vanora asked.

Moffitt kept his mouth shut.

"Who's on the phone?"

Oh, I'm very much getting the bloody couch tonight.

"Jack?"

"I… uh…" Moffitt put the phone back. "N-No one."

"What's wrong with your voice?"

Blast. "Oh, nothing." He coughed.

"'Nothing?'"

"Yes. Nothing, darling, I am perfectly—" Another two coughs. "—fine."

"Jack, you have a bloody doctorate from one of the most prestigious universities in the world, and yet you are stupid enough to think I wouldn't see right through your little act here?"

"Vanora, that hurt."

His wife folded her arms over her chest. "I told you yesterday not to go out without a bloody jacket. Now look. You've got yourself a chest cold, and you're trying to hide it. Troy really is a bad influence on you."

Moffitt wasn't quite sure what to say. "You sound… well, forgive me for pointing this out, but you sound angry."

"I'm not angry. Just disappointed."

"I love you."

"That's not going to work."

"Come now, all I have to do is smile at you and you'll be happy again."

"Not going to work."

"Yes it will."

Vanora looked like she was trying not to smile. "No, it won't."

"I haven't even tried and you are already smiling. You can't stay mad at me."

Vanora's face reddened with the effort of trying not to smile at her husband. "Are you going to remember to put a coat on next time?"

"I'll try." Moffitt hunched over slightly when he was gripped in another fit of coughing.

"Alright," Vanora sighed. "Go out to the sitting room. I'll bring your tea and start you on cough syrup."

"That stuff tastes bloody awful. Just give me a spoonful of honey."

"You know what? No. You'll take the cough syrup as punishment for not listening about your coat."

"Oh, but, darling—"

"If you behave, I'll give you honey."

"But I'm always well-behaved."

"Oh, really? You were in such a grumpy mood yesterday because of the weather that you ignored me and left your coat here when you went out riding."

"I wasn't grumpy. Just disappointed."

"No, you were very grumpy. Go lie down."

Right before he could be pushed into the sitting room, Moffitt faced Vanora, and smirked at her.

She glared at him and sighed. "Jack, you're… you're something else sometimes."

"I'm yours. That's what I am. I love you, darling."

"I love you, too. Please, lie down, and I'll bring out your medicine. Maybe I'll be nice and bring honey with it."

"You're always nice—you put up with me."

"Somehow."

Moffitt's response was to kiss his wife's cheek, then he promptly flopped on the couch.