The nearby wet washcloth was folded to keep the scent of sick out of Jim's nostrils and the dribbles were blotted away.

"James."
What may I do for you?

His fingers slid around the cool glass, taking it before it slipped from the sick man's grasp and dropped to shatter on the tile. Could plainly see the fatigue. Wanted to gather him up and chase off the illness, as if that were possible.