"Yeah, well, I make no promises," he teased, smiling a little easier as they talked. She wasn't dying, she was just sick; she'd bounce back, and soon be up and around again. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. And until she was, he would take care of her as much as she allowed. "Besides, you can't judge it now - your taste buds are sick too, everything tastes different. And food made by someone else always tastes better." He knew both those things from plenty of experience growing up.

Pressing another kiss to her forehead, Steve stood up. "Get some more rest. It's gonna take a while to make the soup. I'll bring you some when it's done." He was about to turn away to leave, before remembering, "Oh. I got some Jell-O and pudding, too. I can make those while the chickens cooking, if you want some now. Any preferences? I got... strawberry, orange, and raspberry for Jell-O flavors, and vanilla, chocolate and butterscotch pudding mixes."