chicken soup.
She cuddled up under the covers, pale and tired-looking, holding her book in one hand and her green eyes staring at him dolefully from above dark shadows that had appeared with her illness. He held up the bottle of NyQuil, waggling it entreatingly at her. "Do you want the Green Death?"
"No," she pouted.
"Do you want me to get you chocolate milk?"
"No."
"Do you want chicken soup?"
"No!" she pulled the covers over her head. "Stop asking me questions."
"What's the capital of North Dakota?"
"...Bismarck?" came the voice from under the blue comforter. A pause, and then she popped her head back out, "I didn't even know that I knew that."
He grinned at her, and left to go get her some chicken soup.
