She didn't even bat an eyelash at the chastising; you didn't grow up in a large Mexican family without exceptionally thick skin. Instead, she tugged him back to his bedroom, and she pointed at the bed. "You aren't dying," she said with utter seriousness. "I'd be able to tell if you were," she added. She glanced over at him then, just to be sure. Nope, not dying. Plenty of time left.
"Get into bed, Casper," she added, pulling the cold medicine out of her jeans pocket and waving it. "I come equipped for this away mission."
Then, as if it was an afterthought (as if it hadn't consumed her entire last two weeks). "Are we related?"