She was avoiding him. After eight - nine - how many years had they been doing this - he knew when she was avoiding the question, mostly because she wasn't pushing back and telling him that she'd already had her flu shot and wasn't going to need antivirals because it was a cold. That somehow caused her to throw up. "Suped-up cold drugs?" he suggested. "Why is it that we can cure the measles - or would if parents were sane - and yet can't cure the common cold?
"Tea?" he added, trailing after her as she went and got water. "Ginger ale? ginger beer? ginger tea? That's a thing, apparently, supposed to help digestion and upset stomachs and it's probably great for the common cold."
He was babbling, because he was watching what she was doing, all the more closely when she said she was going to the doctor for the sniffles. And an upset stomach. And she really didn't look well, but that could have been because she had the sniffles and was just throwing up, and from the strain of the past few weeks; there were tension lines around her mouth, along with a limpness to her hair, but that could be anything. Just sickness and stress. Except she was avoiding him as well, and going to the doctor.
Those were all red flags tossed up, he just didn't know what they were signally, and the back of his mind - which refused to talk to the rest of his brain - was terrified it meant he was going to be hit by a train.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," he quipped. "You can always get JARVIS to scan you, dispense drugs and droll advice, and curl up on a couch with Netflix."