"I can love and have children, live and grow old. You never prepared me for that, you stupid haggis."

"I'm going to kill him, Rachel," Brenda said, her matter-of-fact tone heavily laced with frustration. "I swear to God, I'm going to kill him."

These were not the words Rachel had been expecting when she called. "What's wrong, dear?"

"You know that nasty flu that's been going around?" Brenda asked. "The grumpiest man in Scotland caught it."

"Mmm." Now she understood. Rachel hadn't thought anything could be more difficult than learning about and accepting Immortality. But dealing with someone who had lived more than 400 years without ever being truly ill, and who was now as mortal as the next person -- and as susceptible to everyday problems -- might push someone just a little over the edge. Especially when the person you were dealing with was as stubborn as Connor.

"Oh, he was so happy to be rid of the Immortality," Brenda continued. "He told me, ‘I can love and have children, live and grow old.' Yeah, and he can get sick as a dog just like everyone else too. And he's so Goddamned stubborn about it..."

"It's something new to him," Rachel said gently.

"But he's been around sickness before." Brenda was not going to let this go. "He's taken care of others when they're sick, he knows how it can just break your spirit and make you miserable. So how come he turns into such an extraordinarily whiny, grumpy clod when it finally hits him?"

Rachel shook her head, pulling her lower lip between her teeth in thought. "Taking care of others who are sick isn't the same as knowing what it feels like yourself. And everyone tends to get at least a little whiny when they're ill."

"I suppose he has the right," Brenda agreed. "He's congested and coughing, and feverish and complaining of being achy. He didn't want to go to the doctor, but I made him. Then the doctor gave him some medication, which I finally put my foot down and made him take when he didn't want to. He keeps trying to get out of bed and do things when he doesn't have the strength. In other words, he's being a horrible patient and making me crazy."

"I know it's difficult," Rachel replied calmly, "but put yourself in his place. You and I both know he's terribly self-reliant. He's had to be, in some ways, and often forced himself to be even when he didn't have to. Now he's dependent on you and the doctor. Add to that the fact that he's not used to being out of the action -- he's never had to spend time recovering from anything. I would imagine that's awfully frustrating for him."

Brenda gave a deep sigh. "I suppose so. But he's making me frustrated too. I'm just waiting to catch the flu myself -- which with all this stress is going to happen pretty damned fast."

"Well, perhaps he can make up for this behavior when he has to take care of you." Rachel chuckled. "And consider this an exercise in patience for yourself." Rachel could almost hear Brenda roll her eyes.

"I guess so. If I don't put a pillow over his face and put him out of his misery first..."

"Now, now," Rachel scolded. "Take a deep breath, have a walk in the garden. Sounds like you could use it."

"Yeah. It's actually sunny at the moment."

"Well then take advantage of it," Rachel prodded. "Sounds like you and Connor would both benefit from a change in mood."

Brenda leaned against the doorway of the bedroom, watching her significant other sleep. The venting to Rachel had done as much good as the walk in the garden had, and for once she wasn't prematurely bracing herself in anticipation of Connor's mood swings or tamping down waves of anger and frustration. Brenda walked over to the window, drawing back the heavy drapes but leaving the semi-sheer undercurtains in place to filter out the harshness of the direct sunlight.

Connor's eyes opened, narrowed against the light for a moment, then opened again. He looked tired, Brenda noted. But he wasn't sweating like he had been, so his temperature had probably gone down some. Connor drew the covers up around his shoulders and gave a groaning sigh, closing his eyes again. Brenda sat down next to him and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "Feeling any better?" she asked softly.

"No."

Brenda bit back a response to his grumpy tone as she moved her hand away from his face. "You're not as hot." Connor just shrugged. At least now she didn't feel like smacking him for his obstinance -- not yet, anyway. "Is the sunlight bothering you? Do you want me to close the curtains?" He shook his head. "Then I'm going to get you some more water, your meds and something to eat." Brenda was surprised Connor didn't protest, and hurried to prepare some food before he changed his mind. Not eating had been one of his most stubborn acts during his illness. When she returned, she found Connor had propped himself against the headboard, staring out the window through the sheers. "Your color's coming back," Brenda remarked, settling the tray over his lap.

Connor shrugged. "I feel a little better."

"Good." Brenda pointed to the pills. "No throwing them away, no feeding them to the dog," she said sternly. "I'm going to stand here til you've taken them." With a mild glare in her direction, Connor obediently swallowed the pills. Brenda wanted to laugh -- partly because he was actually doing what she told him to do the first time she told him, and partly because the glare definitely meant he was getting back to his usual self. Connor ate most of the soup -- another good sign that he was, in fact, getting better. Brenda took the tray back to the kitchen, then returned to settle Connor back into bed. She gently tucked the covers around him and kissed his temple. "Go back to sleep." Connor turned his head to look at her, and their eyes locked for a long moment. "You don't have to thank me," she said wryly. "I'll get my revenge the next time I get sick." She winked, and had the pleasure of his staccato laugh floating to her as she walked out the door.