When Owen didn't come down for breakfast, I put everything away and left a plate for him in the refrigerator. After I’d spent the morning in my office running numbers, I went to make a sandwich for lunch. When I opened the refrigerator and saw his breakfast plate sitting there untouched, it occurred to me that something could be wrong.

Without hesitating to think it through or second-guess myself, I raced upstairs to his room. I tapped on his door a few times, but the only response I got was a low moan. "Okay, you're scaring me. I'm coming in," I announced as I opened the door.

Owen gazed weakly at me through heavy-lidded, glassy eyes. He looked pale against the pillow, yet his cheeks were flushed bright red. "Austin? What time is it?" His voice came out in a slur, concerning me even more than I had been.

"Lunchtime," I said absently as I walked closer to the bed. I hesitated for a moment, thinking about the germs before brushing the thought aside. My hands would wash, but this was Owen. If he needed me, then I'd step up for him. I carefully pressed the back of my hand against his forehead then jerked it away. "You're burning up." I shook my head. "Do you think you caught a bug, or should I call Dr. Hunt?"

"No doctors, it’s just a minor cold," he said with a groan. I smiled at that. Despite our struggle to get him insurance, it was a fight every time he needed a checkup. The only thing that kept him going for regular office visits was his concern for the baby. Fortunately, living here and getting those regular office visits with a doctor had helped him, and the baby was now growing at a faster rate.

"Let me go check my flu cabinet; I'll be right back." As I turned to leave the room, I heard him start to laugh before he began coughing. I glanced back over my shoulder. "Are you okay? You weren't choking or anything, were you?"

He shook his head and flashed me a weak smile. "No, I was just amusing myself because of course, Austin Logan would have a flu cabinet."

My cheeks heated as I rushed out of the room. I went into the main bathroom and scrubbed my hands before pulling on a pair of surgical gloves and a mask. It never hurt to be cautious, I reasoned. But more importantly—how could I help him if I got sick too?

Looking through my stock, I grabbed a thermometer and the bottle of cold medicine that contained Tylenol. A quick Google search told me that it was safe for pregnant people, as long as I stuck to the recommended dosage. Duh, like that wasn’t a given.

"I'm back," I said, my voice muffled by the surgical mask as I walked up to his bedside. "First let me take your temperature, then I'll get some medicine into you."

Owen's eyes opened a little wider when he caught sight of my mask and gloves. "I'd like to tease you right now, but you're probably smart to wear those. Trust me, you don't want to catch whatever bug I've got."

"In all honesty, I'd probably be fine anyway since I've had my flu shot," I confided while I took his temperature. "But I figured it's better safe than sorry. One of us needs to be healthy; we can't both be sick." I winced when I read the temperature and dropped the disposable cover into the trash before setting the thermometer down on his nightstand and pouring him a dose of medicine. Cradling the back of his head, I was able to help him sit up enough to safely swallow the medicine before I helped him lie back down.

"Thank you," Owen wheezed before a coughing fit took over.

"It's my pleasure," I said quietly. "You rest now. I'm going to go find you some juice and see what kind of broth I have on hand. Eating probably isn't the best idea with the fever, but if you can manage clear broth, that would probably be better for the baby."

Once I knew he was resting comfortably, I ducked out of the room and removed my mask and gloves before going downstairs to take stock of the food and drink situation.

The rest of the day was spent going up and down the stairs, tending to Owen. My brothers would probably keel over if they knew that I'd held a wastebasket for him while he’d puked up the broth I gave him.

When he was finally able to hold down some Gatorade, I decided that was good enough for today. First, we’d deal with the fever, then I'd worry about nutrients. In the meantime, at least we were replacing his lost electrolytes.

*****

"Austin, I think I'm feeling well enough to go downstairs. I'm sick of staring at these walls," Owen groused. I finished watering Miss Ferngully, then set the watering can I’d bought him back in the bathroom under the sink where he'd decided to keep it. When I came back out, I walked over and sat at the edge of the bed.

"You probably are," I said after a moment's thought. "Your coloring's back to normal and your mucus has been clear when you cough today. Besides, everyone knows that when the patient starts getting grouchy, that's usually a sign that they’re feeling better. Why don't we go downstairs and I'll make you a little nest on the couch. We can have a movie night, if you'd like."

"That sounds amazing," Owen breathed out. "I know I keep thanking you for everything, but seriously—thank you for taking care of me this week. How long have I been sick, three or four days now?"

"Five," I answered honestly. "You were pretty out of it for the first couple days there."

"And yet you took care of me this whole time. You, the biggest germaphobe I've ever met, willingly took care of me. I don't think I can ever thank you enough, but I want you to know how much I appreciate how you've been here for me."

"I’m your husband, right? It's kind of in the job description." I looked down at my lap, fidgeting uncomfortably under his gaze. Days of caring for Owen, helping him to the bathroom, wiping his sweaty brow with a damp cloth, monitoring his medicines and trying to keep him hydrated—it had all worked together to make me feel far more attached to him than I'd ever expected when we'd agreed to marry.

"It may be in the job description, for most people anyway, but you didn't just toss me some Kleenex and some cold medicine. You were really here for me, Austin. I know I'm probably making you uncomfortable, but I just want you to know that I'm aware of how much you’ve done for me this week." Owen spoke so softly, I almost had to strain to hear. When I glanced back at him over my shoulder with a tentative smile, he flashed me a grin. "Okay, enough of the thank yous. I believe I've been promised a movie night?"

“Indeed. Come on, let’s get you changed out of those fever-sweat clothes and downstairs so we can let this room air out. I think you’ll recover a lot faster with a change of scenery anyway.” I got a fresh pair of pajamas out of his drawer, handing them over for him to go change while I fussed around the room with sanitizing spray.

Once Owen had changed and been relocated to the couch, I tucked a blanket around him and handed him the remote. "Why don't you start looking for movies while I dash back up and change your linens? We don't want you sleeping in those same germ-ridden sheets, now do we?"

Owen grinned. "Heaven forbid. It’s fine, I’ll pick something while you make yourself feel better. Go ahead, we both know that you'll never be able to relax knowing those biohazards are right over your head."

"I'm starting to think you get me." I chuckled and walked into the kitchen to get him a fresh Gatorade and check on the chicken soup I had going in a crockpot. Once I was satisfied that Owen was settled, I went upstairs and donned my mask and gloves before stripping the bed.

In no time flat, I had the sickroom thoroughly disinfected and the linens replaced. After I tossed the mask and gloves I’d worn for the job, I went back downstairs. I paused in the kitchen long enough to grab us both a large mug of soup before joining Owen on the couch.

"What do you think about starting the Marvel movies? I kind of want to watch them all again in order, now that we're stuck waiting for the next Avengers movie after that Infinity War bullshit." Owen had the first Iron Man queued up, but I shook my head.

"I think that's a great idea, but if you want to do that, we can't start with Tony Stark. We have to start with Captain America: The First Avenger," I explained as I stole the remote and searched for the right movie.

"No way, the films officially started with Iron Man, everyone knows that," Owen argued.

"That's true, but the Captain's movie was where the story really began. I can give you a detailed history, if you'd like, or you can just trust me." I turned away from the TV to smirk at him. "You don't want to get into this argument with me; you won't win."

Owen snickered and tipped his chin toward the TV. "Just put it on. I should know better than to ever argue with a geek, I don't know why I even bothered to try."

"Probably because you were looking forward to checking out Tony Stark." I glanced back at him with a teasing grin.

"Please." Owen waved a hand. "Everyone knows Steve Rogers is way hotter. Besides, we don't get the true eye candy until we meet Loki."

As the opening credits rolled on the screen, I picked up another remote and dimmed the lights before settling back beside Owen on the couch. My brain was working overtime, but it took me a couple minutes to get the nerve to comment on the whole Loki thing.

I went for playful, flashing him a flirty wink. "So what you're saying is that you’re drawn to tall, lanky guys with longish, dark hair? Good to know."

Owen shocked me by looping his arm through mine and leaning against my shoulder. "And here you thought I married you for your money," he said quietly.

"Speaking of marriage." I turned my head enough to catch his eye as he looked up at me. "Happy two-month anniversary."

Owen smiled shyly, his cheeks flushing pink as he turned back to the screen. "Happy anniversary," he echoed. "Two months ago, I would've been shocked to know that you'd remember the date, but now that I've gotten to know you better? I think I would've been way more surprised if you hadn't."

Ten minutes into the movie, I turned and murmured into his ear. "Admit it. You totally forgot the date, didn't you?"

"I totally did," he admitted with a light laugh. "If you want, I can put a reminder in my phone for next month?"

"No, that's okay." I grinned. "This is supposed to be a marriage of convenience, remember? Setting calendar reminders sounds pretty damn inconvenient."

"Thank you, because I'm not sure I remember how to do it anyway," he said with a laugh. "Now, hush. It's about to get good."

I smiled to myself, even as I made a mental note to show him how to work the calendar function on his phone one of these days.