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He obeyed the orders without protest, thinking that if she wanted him to get up for whatever reason, she wouldn’t have told him not to. Knowing now that he obviously didn’t need to get up and sprint out of the hospital to deal with some catastrophe – that had been the old song and dance back when you-know-who was still alive, and his soldiers were killing without rhyme or reason. That was how it seemed, at least.

He would reach out his hand to help her down onto the bed, shifting his weight to give her more room, laying on his hip, now propping himself up with his elbow as his other hand pinched at the bridge of his nose. The least he could do was at least try to pretend he wasn’t as uncomfortable as he actually was. He was used to playing things down, back when he would come home from a night of dueling death eaters when Eliza had no idea about the Order. He had learned how to mask bruises, and heal cuts and wounds even before he had access to them by working at Mungos.

Listening to the explanation of where their son was eased a lot of the worry that he had when she initially walked into the room, knowing now that he was indeed safe and sound with their close friends. He dropped his hand when he heard her rustling through her bag, noting the items she was pulling out with a great deal of interest. He managed a tired smirk as he reached forward to grab one of the pillows, once again following her instructions by dropping down onto the cot so he was laying on his side, his arm now tucked beneath his pillow, making himself more comfortable. Once the quilt was over him, he reached out his hand for hers, hoping to pull her down to sit back down onto the thin mattress with him.

“You don’t need to fuss over me like this, love…”

He said the words as his thumb brushed over the back of her hand – a silent way of saying ‘thank you’, so she didn’t think he was being unappreciative. He just didn’t want to be another child that she thought she needed to take care of.