She started to reach for him, to smooth down his hair, to soothe him - but before her fingers brushed against his skin, he forced out a request for water, and she drew her hand back.

Water. Right.

Of course, he wanted to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

Marinette nodded, eased herself up and over the side of the bed, and headed for the bathroom door. "I'll be right back. With water," she assured him, and she slipped through the door to grab the cup they'd kept there. The nurses had thought it better if they kept it on hand, and she had to admit, they were right.

Soon enough she was back with a cup of water and a straw, which she held out to him.