"Jesus Christ," Emmett moaned, falling back onto the pillows after a particularly vehement coughing fit. "I think I pulled something."

Julian handed him three tissues, layered together and folded precisely in the middle.

Emmett blew his nose and dropped the soiled tissues into the trashcan on the other side of the bed.

"Kill me," Emmett begged.

Julian barely looked up from the case file he was reading. "No. Again."

"I took care of you when you hurt your leg. I fetched and carried for you. I waited by your bedside like a nervous wife when you had surgery. I practically carried you all over town while you were recovering. I had dinner with your parents. Can't you do this one thing for me?"

"No," Julian said. "I won't kill you." He kissed the tips of his fingers, leaned over, and gently touched them to Emmett's forehead. "I will, however, make you some soup."

"Chicken noodle?" Emmett said in a small, sick voice.

Julian took off his glasses and placed them on the bed table. He was almost to the door when Emmett said, "With a nice, tall glass of anti-freeze?"

"No," Julian said.