There were very few things in the world that could pull Jack Moffitt away from snuggling up with his wife in bed, when it was the dead of night and one of the coldest that autumn had to offer. He was half-asleep, but managed to pull Vanora close to him and hugged her tightly. He kissed the top of her head, and nuzzled her right cheek before trying to return to a much deeper sleep. Little moments like these were perfect and it felt like nothing could pull him away.

The silence of night was shattered by the sound of retching and coughing. The only other person in the house was Moffitt and Vanora's teenaged son, Jules, so the couple's heads shot up immediately. They scrambled from bed, with Moffitt only able to get one slipper on before he and his wife made a mad dash for the bathroom.

Vanora didn't even bother knocking. She opened the door, finding Jules half-slumped over the sink, shaking badly. His face was ashen and there was a dazed, nauseated look in his eyes. "Jules? Are you alright?" Vanora asked.

"You look bloody awful," Moffitt said.

"Fine. I'm… alright," Jules muttered.

"I doubt it. That's the same thing I would say in your position." Moffitt felt something climbing up his left pantleg, and looked down to see Anah, his supernatural Egyptian cobra companion, making her way up to his shoulders.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Jules is sick."

"I'm not sick, Dad," Jules said. "I'm feeling a bit better, honest."

"We will see," Anah replied. "No lessons tomorrow. Rest, dear."

Despite a leaden weight of drowsiness sitting on Moffitt's head, he didn't go back to bed right away. He made sure Jules was in bed once his nausea had somewhat passed, and stood in the doorway to his son's bedroom. A knot of worry had begun tightening in his stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was panic over what was probably something simple and easily managed from home, but he still asked, "Does anything else hurt?"

"Nothing hurts, really," Jules mumbled. "Just… tired. Feels like… got bricks tied to me."

Moffitt walked over to feel Jules's forehead. "You definitely have a fever. Did this come on suddenly?"

"No. I felt… off yesterday. Wasn't sure why."

"That explains why you didn't eat much at dinner." Moffitt cursed himself. I should've suspected something was wrong. Damn it, this is my fault! He sank down into the chair in front of Jules's desk, repeatedly telling himself that this was all his fault. He sighed while leaning forward and rubbing his face. "Jules, I'm so sorry for this."

Anah spoke up. "Why are you apologizing? Again, you are blaming yourself for something you did not do."

"I should've seen this coming."

"Did you even know something was wrong yesterday?"

"No, but—"

"Then stop apologizing." Anah slithered onto the bed, curling up on Jules's pillow. "You can go back to bed if you wish. I will stay with Jules."

"No, I can stay up. I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep anyway," Moffitt said.

Vanora entered the room, holding a dry washcloth. "How is he?"

"Very feverish and overall tired."

"Alright. I'll be right back." She returned about a minute later. The washcloth was now cool and damp. "There you go," Vanora whispered while gently pressing the cloth to Jules's forehead. "Do you want anything else?"

"Sleep," Jules moaned.

Vanora looked hesitant. Moffitt stood, touching her shoulder. "If he wants to sleep, we should let him," he said, softly.

"Alright," Vanora sighed.

"Anah can stay," Jules said.

"Poor dear." Anah moved closer to Jules. "You will be alright. Get some rest."

Moffitt trusted the cobra to take care of his son throughout the rest of the night. That didn't make his own sleep any easier, even when Vanora cuddled up to him in bed after they both laid back down.

In the morning, Moffitt didn't hesitate to call the university and say that he wouldn't be in that day. Taking care of Jules was far more important. Vanora had a conference she couldn't miss, despite wanting to stay home as well.

"Everything will be alright," Moffitt said. "I'll call if something happens."

"If you have to call an ambulance, call me first," Vanora replied.

"I don't think that'll be necessary." He kissed her forehead before she got ready to leave for work. "I love you, darling."

"I love you, too, Jack. I'll try to come home as quickly as possible."

"Don't worry. Jules has me and Anah. Everything will be fine."

"Alright. Just don't tell Troy. You know he'll be over here in a heartbeat."

"Yes, I know." Moffitt gave his wife one last kiss before she left. He started preparing his breakfast tea, then stood in front of his tea cabinet to try and pick something that would help Jules. He pulled out three boxes—elderberry, ginger, and chamomile—and decided to make as potent an herbal blend as he possibly could.

The phone rang while the tea was steeping. Moffitt quickly picked it up, not wanting to wake Jules if he was still asleep. "Hello?"

"My apologies, Moffitt, I was expecting Anah to pick up," Hans Dietrich said.

"You need to talk to Anah?" That's not something you hear every day.

"Yes, I have some things that she asked for that she wanted to use in Jules's schooling."

"Ah. She's not available, unfortunately."

"You are usually at the university at this time. Is everything alright?"

"Jules took ill last night. I'm home to take care of him. Vanora's at a conference."

"Well, I hope he gets well soon. Is it serious?"

"It's probably a touch of the flu. I'm brewing up tea right now, and trying to keep things as quiet as possible."

"I see. How is—hold on." Dietrich sighed, and shouted, "Gunther! We do not bring leaves into the house!"

Moffitt couldn't help grinning.

"No! You are not making a leaf pile in the living room to jump in! Put those back outside, this instant!"

Moffitt could hear Dietrich's young son trying to put up a four-year-old's typically feeble and nonsensical argument in the background.

"There could be insects and spiders in those! They belong outside! Out! Now!" Dietrich let out a sigh and a curse. "Could we trade for a couple of days, Moffitt? I will take Jules and you can take Gunther?"

"Jules was quite calm as a toddler, remember? There's no way I'd be able to handle Gunther. Give him to Troy. They can wear each other out."

"Yes, but who will wear the other out first? Gunther is still small and Troy is… Troy."

"Indeed, but Gunther is actually young and Troy refuses to acknowledge the fact that he's getting older."

"Age has not stopped Troy from anything."

"That's true. I should know that. Then my money would be on Gunther to be worn out first. Nothing can stop Troy. Not even a toddler."

"A charging bull would not be able to stop Troy."

"Dietrich, don't say that. We're going to get a phone call from Shauna saying that Troy is in the hospital because he tried to stop a charging bull."

"Right. I had best shut up before that comes true."

"Thank you." Moffitt spotted movement in the corner of his vision, and turned to see Jules slowly shuffling out of his bedroom, holding onto the wall for stability. "You should be in bed. Are you alright?"

Jules didn't offer much of an answer. Anah was around his shoulders. "I have him," she said. "It is alright, dear, go lie down in the parlor."

Dietrich was quiet for a moment. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Moffitt said. "Jules is up."

"I suppose I should leave you to take care of him."

"It's alright, Dietrich, I… I appreciate the talk."

"Your son is more important, but if you need someone to talk to, I am available."

"Thank you." Moffitt took the tea kettle off the stove before it started whistling. "I'll call if I need anything. Have a good day, Dietrich."

"I will try. Tell Jules I hope he feels better."

"I'll do that once I hang up. So long." Moffitt let Dietrich hang up first, then set the phone down. He went out into the parlor, holding a cup of the mixed tea. Jules was lying on the couch, looking pale, tired, and utterly miserable. Moffitt had been sick enough times to know exactly how he was feeling.

Anah was pulling a blanket over Jules. "He is still feverish," she said quietly. "What did you bring?"

"A mixed tea, Elderberry, ginger, and chamomile," Moffitt replied.

"Sounds quite good, actually."

"Don't want anything…" Jules moaned.

"You don't have to drink it now." Moffitt felt Jules's forehead, then turned to Anah. "Has he had chills at all?"

Anah shook her head. "No, not yet. He stayed very warm throughout the night, poor thing."

"Did he throw up again?"

"He had dry heaves a couple of hours ago."

"Any other symptoms?"

"Some coughing when he woke up. Nothing beyond that."

Moffitt brought his chair over from his desk to sit by the couch. "This hit him hard and fast, didn't it?"

"It certainly seems so. You often exhibit similar symptoms when you have the flu."

"With me, there tends to be a lot more chundering."

"Yes indeed." Anah looked over at Moffitt. "Are you still blaming yourself for Jules's illness?"

"For now, no."

"Good. You should not be blaming yourself. Did you have breakfast, dear?"

"No, not yet."

Anah gave him a look. "You will get sick yourself if you keep this up."

Moffitt ignored her as he left the parlor. His worry for Jules prevented him from having much of an appetite, but he still took some scones with jam from the fridge. He went back out to the parlor with the scones and a cup of tea.

Anah was on the table, and Jules had wrapped himself up in the blanket. His blue eyes were glassy with fever, but it looked as though the phase of chills had started.

"Cold?" Moffitt asked.

"Very," Jules muttered. "Joints really hurt."

"Do you feel like you can drink something?"

"I'll… try."

Moffitt went slow and careful while helping Jules sit up, and brought the cup of tea to his lips. It was hard to believe at times that Jules wasn't little anymore, and Moffitt gave a quiet sigh while remembering all the times he and Vanora would sit out here on the couch with Jules when he was very little and sick. It felt like so long ago and yesterday all at the same time.

"The tea's really good. Thanks." Jules's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You're welcome. Is it helping?"

Jules nodded. He tried lying back down after a few sips of tea, pressing against the back of the couch as he struggled to stay warm, gripped in chills.

Moffitt draped another blanket over him. "It'll pass. It's awful, but it'll pass."

In the midst of remembering caring for Jules when the boy was much younger, Moffitt's memories turned to his lengthy illness from when he was attending Cambridge. He remembered it started similar to the flu, but it stuck around for weeks on end. He remembered doctor after doctor visiting his parents' home. He remembered being alone in his bedroom for most of the day. His father was busy, as was his mother. His younger brother was busy with his own schoolwork. He remembered loneliness and sadness at his situation, and he was certain that didn't help with his recovery.

His thoughts quieted for the briefest of moments, and Moffitt began cursing himself for engaging in self-pity while his son needed him.

Jules shifted a little in his blanket cocoon, drawing in a breath that was ragged with shivers. "Dad?"

"Yes?" Moffitt sat straight, poised to get up and run for whatever Jules needed. When he didn't get a response, Moffitt dragged his chair closer. "Do you need something?"

"Just… wanted to make sure you're still there. Anah, too. Where's… Where's Mum?"

"Your mother's at work, unfortunately. She had something she couldn't miss. Trust me, she wanted to stay home."

"Okay."

"Do you want more tea?"

Jules weakly nodded, and tried sitting up again.

"Take it easy. Don't strain yourself." Moffitt picked up the tea after helping Jules sit. "Is this all you want?"

"Not sure."

"Maybe something a bit more substantial will help," Anah said. She turned to Jules. "If you think your stomach can handle it."

"What did you have in mind?" Jules asked.

"I could make a soup."

"I'll try. Maybe you're right and food will help."

Anah disappeared into the kitchen. Moffitt watched her leave, then looked back at Jules. "Before I forget, Dietrich called earlier. He said that he hopes you feel better soon."

"Thanks," Jules murmured. He finished the tea, and stared ahead blankly while Moffitt left to set the cup by the sink.

Anah was perched on the counter, cutting her ingredients for the soup. There were several bulbs of garlic laid out, which Moffitt eyed with a slight grin. "You're not using all of that garlic, are you?" he asked.

"Of course I am," Anah said. "Garlic is great for when you are sick."

"Yes, but… do you need to use that much?"

"I insist on it."

"Alright."

Anah glanced up at Moffitt, pausing her cutting. "How is Jules doing?"

"Still having chills. I'm getting a hot water bottle for him."

Anah sighed, returning her focus to the knife, cutting board, and the chicken on top of it. "Poor dear. I wish there was more we could do just to make him comfortable."

"It hasn't been that long since this started. We're doing our best. Just need to let his body fight it and help as best we can."

"Exactly."

Moffitt watched Anah work as he got the water bottle warmed up. "When we were out there, I started thinking about what happened when I had gotten really sick while I was at Cambridge."

"You have told me about what it was like. You spent a lot of time alone."

"Either alone, or just… I don't know how you'd describe it. My father—he's since apologized for this—spent his free time trying to make sure I wasn't falling behind, instead of…"

"Instead of being a little more sympathetic and taking care of what you truly needed at the time."

"Yes. That. Even though he apologized and things have been much better between us, I don't want Jules enduring the same thing."

"No, and who can blame you? What you went through was awful. You were very ill and all anyone could do was ask if you were doing what little schoolwork you could do."

Moffitt nodded. "I did my best, but it wasn't enough. I had to repeat my classes from that year."

"Remind me, dear, did you run away to spend time alone in the desert, or did you tell your parents?"

"I told my parents. They let me go. I think… I think that was when my father started regretting pushing me too hard."

"At least things changed for the better."

Another nod. "The point, though, is that when I stopped thinking about that, I was angry because I was feeling sorry for myself, instead of helping Jules."

Anah moved the cut chicken onto a dish, then changed boards and knives to chop the garlic, herbs, and carrots. "I was there. He was not completely alone, nor did he need anything at the time. It is a somewhat familiar situation, so of course you are going to think about what happened in your past. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Right." Moffitt gave her a small grin. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." Anah smiled back. "You and Vanora have been wonderful parents."

"Thanks." Moffitt patted the cobra's head before getting the hot water bottle, and heading back into the parlor. His heart sank upon seeing Jules still wrapped up tightly in all the blankets. "Here. I brought something that should help." He held up the hot water bottle. "Just tell me where you'd like it."

Jules bravely took some of the blankets off. "Thanks, Dad. Under my knees. They hurt worst."

"Your joints still ache?"

"Yeah."

"How bad?"

"Not too terrible, but I'd rest better if they didn't hurt."

Moffitt motioned that he would be right back before rushing into the bathroom. He searched through the medicine cabinet, which badly needed to be organized, and took out a bottle of pain relievers. He brought two of the pills out to Jules after getting a glass of water as well. "Take these. Try to drink that whole glass. You should be having plenty of fluids while sick anyway."

"I know, Dad," Jules replied. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Moffitt returned to his chair. A warm, savory smell was coming from the kitchen—and it was somewhat pungent with garlic, but it wasn't an oppressive level of pungent. "Anah's soup smells good."

"It's actually making me hungry," Jules said.

"That's good." Moffitt didn't want to admit that he was starting to feel a bit peckish as well. Jules would be taken care of first.

He wondered if Anah had been reading his mind, as when she came out to the parlor, she brought two bowls of soup with her. "There you are, dears. Chicken soup, with extra garlic."

"You didn't have to bring one for me, Anah," Moffitt said.

"Oh, stop." Anah set the bowls on the table before poking Moffitt's hand with her tail. "Eat and enjoy, please."

Jules didn't hesitate to start eating his. "This is really good, Anah. Thank you."

"It was no trouble, dear. It will help you feel better." Anah looked over at Moffitt. "And what do you think, dear?"

"This might very well be the best soup you've ever made," Moffitt said after a few spoonfuls. "You'll have to write it down and give it to Dietrich and the others."

"You know what? I will." Anah slithered up onto Moffitt's desk to get a pen and stationary.

"I'd rank this along with your fish and chips," Jules said. "Can't say it's better, though. I could eat the fish and chips all day. And your Bakewell tarts."

"Would you like me to make a Bakewell tart, dear?" Anah asked.

"Let's see how he fares with the soup first," Moffitt said.

"Oh, alright."

Moffitt helped Anah clean up when they finished eating. "Jules certainly perked up with that. You didn't add a potion to that soup, did you?"

"Of course not." Anah grinned. "Good home-cooking is more powerful than any potion, dear. Why? Because it comes from the heart."

"You learned that from Tully, didn't you?"

"From all of you, actually."

Moffitt raised an eyebrow. "Even Troy? Troy can't cook."

"With Troy, I have learned how easy it is to put someone in a good mood with a well-made meal."

"You know, I was almost prepared to learn that Troy can actually cook and he's been playing stupid for his own amusement all these years."

"Sadly, dear, no. Troy is unable to cook. He does have a strange gift at making hot chocolate, though. Still, seeing the joy on your faces whenever you share a good meal with each other brings joy to me as well, and always will."