Guy wasn't opposed to getting outside help for head-aches or for any other annoying bodily (or mental) discomfort. At his own flat, he would have taken a couple of Advils and downed them with vodka.

A little hesitant at first (he still wasn't sure what it was she did or why she could do it), he agreed to it. "Yes... I suppose. By all means, please do."

It was then that the plate of food was shoved into his hands. Guy regarded it, quite certain he wasn't able to eat anything at the moment.

"You don't sound very pleased of that fact," he remarked. Would Frank rather have people think he was dead? To leave him be?