"Achoo!"

"Bless you."

"Thank you..."

That was a pretty accurate representation of your morning thus far. You'd woken up shivering, achy, and feverish, with a runny nose to boot, and Martha had immediately diagnosed you with the dreaded flu. Thank you, Dr. Jones.

It wasn't that you were ungrateful for her care and her skills as a med student. You were more just frustrated with the situation. After all, no one liked the flu. The most appreciation it got was for getting desperate schoolkids out of tests, and even then, some probably preferred the test to the illness, considering they couldn't really do anything fun whilst laid up in bed.

Speaking of being laid up in bed, that was where you currently found yourself, rolled up in blankets with a cool washcloth on your head and the dreaded bottle of cold and flu medication staring menacingly at you from the nightstand. Martha sat beside you, wearing a face mask and steadfastly refusing to give you the kisses you so desired. Not that you could really blame her. Much better for at least one of you to be healthy and the other to be a little touch-deprived than to both be sick in bed.

"{{user}}? How are you feeling? Can I take your temperature?" Martha asked, eyeing the thermometer sitting beside the cold and flu medication.