falling ill
A few months after the business with the chalice, Annie (with a gold engagement stud in one earlobe, now receiving mail at Aldaras's apartment, and thoroughly comfortable with Being Necklaced, to the point where she's helping mold the thing towards more exacting standards for real-world-practical as well as theoretical compatibility) is in bed with some unidentified sort of head cold or flu. Aldaras doesn't have it so far, so she is snuggled under the covers while he makes her spicy soup to help clear her sinuses and because she's having a little trouble with non-liquids. He's worried, she's mostly just groggy. Zzzz.
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But, his eyes say, the answer is still no.
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"Is it that you don't want me to do it for you," she murmurs, "or that you don't want me to do it at all?"
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Is that a trace of misery in his voice? Yes. Yes it is.
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"I'm a Bell. If all things considered the sane thing to do is have me spend two minutes dead I can deal with that."
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"Okay," he whispers.
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"You know that even if you aren't upset at me it still bothers me when you're upset, don't you?"
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