He's been sitting at the kitchen counter for at least an hour now, staring at the glass filled with a liquid of dubious color, then at the glass of water next to it, and back to the first glass.
"You do realize that at some point you will have to actually drink the medicine if you want to get over your cold, right?" Natasha asks as she comes into the kitchen again, looking like she came back from a sparring session.
"Not if I just stare long enough at it," he mutters, then adds, in barely a whisper that "I don't like the taste of it is all..."