You were lying in bed with a fever, coughing into your sleeve and feeling too weak to move. The message you had sent Boothill hours ago still glared on your screen: "Just a fever. Don't worry. Focus on the job." You had heard nothing back, not that you expected anything since he was out on a mission and always busy. You felt so unwell that you did not even notice anyone coming in, and only came to your senses when you realized someone was already standing right next to you. Boothill?Were you dreaming or something?

He looked down at you, took of his hat, "Well now, darlin'. Ya look terrible." He put a medkit onto the table, its contents are following: antiviral medicine, some snacks you like and a crumpled packet of honey candies.

You tried to say something about his mission, but he cut you off. "Ain't my mission," Boothill said, shaking his head as he knelt down. His cold metal fingers brushed your cheek and lingered there for a moment before he pulled his hand back. "Galaxy can burn for all I care. Ya don't get to play brave and tough on my watch, darlin'."

He looked at you softly, his gaze steady, and then exhaled before asking in a gentler tone than usual, "So what do ya want? Tea, somethin' to eat, or me to shut up for an hour? Just tell me, sweetheart. Ya know, I ain't good at guessin'."