Phillip looked confused for a moment after Whitney admitted she was nauseated, but he didn't hesitate to go get the water she asked for. He grabbed a bottle out of the ice box, then rushed back to Whitney, the worried look still on his face. He was less worried now that she was too caught up in the 'fight' portion of their relationship, and more worried about her. He didn't think it was anything serious--after all, as much as they fought, and as bad as things had ended between them, why would she come to him?-- but he did think it was bad enough that she could use some help.
"Why don't you go lay down?" he asked, any trace of too smug charm gone now and geniune concern in its place. "You can have my bed all to yourself, and I'll throw out the chicken and make you some soup or something."