She settled in like she always did, her head resting just below his clavicle, closing her eyes, content. Maybe she could coax him into bed for a good long snow-welcoming makeout session... but thoughts of a couple of blissful hours with him were interrupted. He was holding her so tightly.
"I'm fine," Gemma said, lifting her head and standing back a little, her hands resting on his arms. "I feel a little bit hungover, or maybe kind of... flu... you're white as paper." She reached up to press her hand against his cheek. "Erran. Nothing happened, I'm fine, I just feel like I drank too much--unless they--was there a plague doctor thing again--"