“Here you are.” He said handing her a cup and saucer, “Milk and sugar?”
When she was situated with her coffee, he served himself last across the small table. While he was somewhat wealthy, he chose to live behind a veil of modesty and suburban life, much as his mother and father, and their parents before them. Not that he didn’t like the modesty, in fact, he loved it more than having some small fortune. He made his public accounts and diary’s reflect only a living to which a professor of his demand could afford though, because he didn't want people thinking him to be a snob.
He smiled as he sat back with his coffee in his comfortable chair, and watched her, waiting for a conversation starter. He was somewhat concerned about her though, as she seemed to look a tad pale, and was breathing quite heavily throughout dinner, and oddly, she wasn’t touching her coffee.
“Are you OK?” he asked sitting up and placing his cup on the table. He was concerned of course. He knew her to be the type of person to push along even though she was dying.
“I’m fine.” She said sitting back into her chair placing her hands onto the arms. “Just tired.”
“I can agree with that.” Henry said, not sitting back, however smiling to make her feel more comfortable, “We must work to live and live to work eh?”
He asked about her sister, Christopher, and the kitten, and weather or not he had a name yet, and only got short, tired answers, and so left her be to rest in the chair. He took up his cup again, and sat back as she closed her eyes, her breathing still labored. It concerned him a great deal too, because she also didn’t touch his cooking, and didn't talk as much over dinner.
As he finished his coffee, about twenty minutes later, watching her breath and sweat form on her head, he sighed, and put his cup down on the table getting up. He knelt in front of her, convinced she was asleep, and placed the back of his hand, his wrist, upon her forehead.
He sighed again, smiling sadly, knowing full well, Emma had caught a cold somewhere, and was working through it.
“What…?” she moaned lazily, opening her eyes part of the way. She went to move his hand from her forehead, but it lacked her usual violence, and zest.
“You are going to bed here.” He said in a tone of finality, “I shall call Luisa and Rosemary to attend to you-”
“No!” she tried to shout this and her eyes opened wider, but she shut them at the effort, and her shout was merely a raised voice.
“To bed with you.” Henry said smiling at her in a way he thought he had forgotten how, “Come on.”
He picked her up, wrapping her close to her in his arms, smiling at her as he walked her up to his room.
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Emma woke up, not in her own bed, but in a bed that smelled just like Henry. She felt horrible. Her face ached, her head ached, she felt so hot, and above all thirsty. She moaned, the only thing she felt like doing, but she had work...
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Henry had heard the moan and looked at the bed from the chair he sat in reading the morning paper and sitting with the tea tray. His morning cup done, he took half a cup more in the hopes that Emma would wake before he left for his classes.
He got up and went over to her, sleeping in the middle of his bed, so child like after he had called Rosemary and Luisa to dress her and make her comfortable for bed. He sat next to her as she watched with what he knew was worry in her eyes. She was seriously sick, not that her life was in danger, but good enough to keep her in bed for a few days.
“The doctor came this morning,” he said gently laying the back of his hand onto her forehead, “He pronounced you ill my dear.” He smiled softly at her, feeling no change in the temperature from earlier this morning, “Its best you rest, and save your killing of me for later.”
“I’ll take pleasure in that.” She said moaning again, closing her eyes.
At that moment she tried to get up, but even with Henry moving to block her from getting to her feet, she fell back into the bed. Henry looked at her sadly. He loved her determination, her zeal, but she would only hurt herself when doing this on a cold. He was the son of doctors, veterinarians yes, but 'Humans,' as far as his doctor hating father would tell him, 'are animals too.' And that man had seen his fair share of farm to domestic animals that died because they were worked under heavy stress. He was sad only because he saw the pain the head cold gave her, and wished with all his might he could make it go away as fast as colds came.
“Sleep.” He said to her as she opened her eyes, her face looking murderous. For some reason that made him smile a little. “I know you don’t like to be told what to do, and that the moment I leave, you will have to call someone, Christopher perhaps, to come and get you, but what would he have you do that I wouldn’t?” he frowned in sadness once again feeling the pain of not being able to take away her cold, “Just rest here, and let me help you get better.”
He placed the back of his hand on her cheek. It was just as warm as her forehead, making him feel sadder. He felt so sad again, so much so that he actually felt his face moving to betray his feelings. He said nothing, but removed his hand. He would wait till she fell asleep again, and then leave. He wanted some peace of mind that she was at least resting. He would go to her boss later and explain, along to her home to see her sister as well.
As she closed her eyes, in what could only be called a reluctant manner, he listened to the familiar signs of rhythmatic breathing that came with sleep. He then leaned over and kissed her lightly goodbye on the forehead, what he did with Kenna when she was sick, and picked up the tray of tea things leaving a cup for some broth later to give to her. Luisa would be here till Rosemary came in the afternoon to check up on her and make soup.
He gave her one last look, and smiled reassuringly, and shut the door soundlessly behind him.
