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Eliot shivered, wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, and shivered again. Parker sat down next to him on the couch, pulled a tissue out of the box on the coffee table, and sneezed.
"I think maybe I caught your cold." Parker punched Eliot. "Thanks a lot."
Eliot rubbed his shoulder. Parker didn't seem to get that the whole playful punching thing wasn't supposed to hurt. "Impossible, Parker. I'm not sick."
Parker sniffled and tugged on the end of Eliot's blanket. "You look sick to me."
Hardison backed away from the couch, pulled a surgical mask from the box on the shelf, and put it on. "I'm gonna be upstairs -- you all can text me if you need anything."
Parker pulled at Eliot's blanket harder. "But I'm sick, who's going to take care of me?" Parker pouted.
"You know I love the both of you." Hardison shaped a heart with his hands. "But you two are just gonna have to take care of each other for a little while, all right?" He put his hands out. "I can not get sick."
"I'm not sick," Eliot insisted.
Parker stopped tugging on the blanket, rested her head on Eliot's shoulder, and whispered, "Liar."
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