Martin considers both offers before deciding he doesn't fancy being stuck in the bedroom all day and pushing himself up with a soft grunt. "I'll take my doting on the couch," he says with a tired but wry smile, and takes John's hand as it's offered, accepting help to pull himself upright. Once on his feet he ends up half-collapsing against John's shoulder. Christ, he got over twelve hours of sleep and he's still so exhausted.

"M'sorry," he says a bit nonsensically; then, with a slight sulk, "I really didn't want to get proper sick."