Chiara was so cold. She'd never been so cold in her life. Why? Her limbs felt heavy, as though they were weighted down, or she were underwater or something. 

How strange.

She tried to move her arms and legs, but found she couldn't. This frightened her, and she tried even harder, flailing as hard as she could against whatever was holding her. Her throat was sandpaper dry, and felt like someone had been striking matches on it. She looked around and saw an unfamiliar room, with unfamiliar people. She cried out for her father, but he was nowhere to be found. She sank back into unconsciousness.

Later. Again, she was so cold, shivering cold. Her teeth were chattering so hard she thought her jaw was going to jitter apart, so hard it was making her head hurt. Her whole body ached with the cold. 

"Shh, shh, darling, drink this, come on, there's a good girl." 

She turned toward the soothing voice, opening her mouth, but the liquid tasted astringent and bitter and she tried to turn away, but someone was holding her head. "Come on, just a bit more, then you can have some water."

She swallowed, grimacing, fighting.

Then came the water, blessedly cold and clear, tasting amazing, and she swallowed greedily, drinking it all, nearly choking. Of course, this made her cold again, and the chills shook her whole body, and she felt them in cycles, making her clench up so tightly, eyes shut as they overtook her.

And she could hear voices, sometimes noisy and raucous, like crowds at a cocktail party, chattering like birds, so loudly that they frightened her, making her want to cover her ears. Then, at other times, the voices were low and dragged out like stretched rubber bands, or LPs played on the wrong speed.

"Dad? Dad, where are you?" Chiara was running down a long, dark hallway, her footsteps echoing in her ears. She fell, her knees making a painful sound as they struck the tile. "Dad? Come back!" She knew he was up ahead of her somewhere, but she couldn't catch up with him, she didn't have a hope of reaching him.

💉🌡💉🌡💉🌡💉🌡💉

Drew hadn't slept, like really slept, in days. 

For one thing, there was the fact that Chiara was in his bed. He wasn't sure what had led him to put her there, when there were four other open beds on the floor where his room was, not to mention a spare room and numerous sofas on the ground floor where he could've taken her as well. It just hadn't occurred to him to put her anywhere else, for some reason.

Of course, he himself could sleep in any of those beds as well, but again, it just didn't feel right. He did consider just crawling in next to Chiara to grab a quick nap, but the doctor he'd had out to treat her had warned him that the virus she had was quite contagious.

"You need to wash your hands every time you touch her, every time you wipe her face or give her a drink, is that clear?" he admonished. "Certainly before you touch your own face or mouth." He looked at Ned, who'd been helping by this point, including him in these warnings as well. "If she were more stable, I'd recommend moving her to hospital, but you two seem to have things well in hand, and she's able to get up to use the toilet on her own, so I'm going to leave her where she is. If things deteriorate any more, she's going to have to go, though, understand?"

And both boys had nodded.

And Ned, worried as he'd been, seemed to have no problem getting a good night's sleep when he needed it, unlike Drew, who worried endlessly that Chiara might get sicker, or worse, possibly die or something, while under his watch. Then where would he be?

He'd asked Dr. Brown if he should hire a trained nurse to care for her.

"Maybe someone with training could give her better care?" he asked.

Dr. Brown had put a hand on Drew's shoulder. "If you're saying you can't cope, then of course, hire someone, son. But all she really needs is someone to wipe her face, keep her comfortable, give her water and her medication, you know? Can you handle that?"

Drew nodded. 

"Then I say leave well enough alone. You and the other young man are doing a bang up job, to tell you the truth. She's improving, I really think so." The doctor picked up his bag. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, all right?"

Drew nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

Drew threw himself down on the sofa, which he'd dragged over by the bed, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Mmm." 

Drew's eyes flew open when Chiara moaned, and he saw that the sun had moved to the opposite window. He must have slept, then.

He rose and checked on her, pulling up the blanket where she'd kicked it off. He could see that she was drenched in sweat, and he could feel that the sheets were damp also. He wanted to change the sheets, but he knew he couldn't do it on his own.

He grabbed a clean cloth and wiped her face, wishing he could clean her up as well. She was still in the slip she was wearing the day of her father's funeral, and she hadn't been bathed since then. 

She opened her eyes and looked at him, and Drew could tell that she was really looking at him, unlike other times, when she'd given him a look like a doll would have.

"Chiara? You awake?" He kept his voice soft.

She nodded, eyelids fluttering in the bright light.

Drew adjusted the curtains so she'd be more comfortable, and came back to sit at her bedside.

"Thirsty. Thirsty." Her voice was rusty from disuse, but he understood her and grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the mini-fridge that doubled as a bedside table, poking a straw into it and holding it for her.

"Here you go. Nice and slow, though, okay? You haven't had much in your stomach for a while."

She nodded as she drank, pulling slowly, closing her eyes as the cold liquid hit her throat. Drew smiled as she made small sounds of appreciation as she swallowed.

"Good," she said when she was finished.

She sat back when she was finished, her eyes closed. Drew wondered if she'd fallen back asleep. He wasn't left wondering for long.

"Where am I?"

"Erm, you're at Langton, in my room," he explained. "Do you remember what happened?"

She shook her head, keeping her eyes closed.

"Oh. Well, after your dad's funeral, you wanted to be alone at his grave, you know?"

Chiara nodded.

"So Ned and I left you and came back here. It was raining by then, and you stayed out there for quite a while, but you'd made it quite clear that you didn't want to be disturbed, so we let you be. Then the rain turned to snow, and you hadn't returned, so I went to get you, but you'd kind of passed out at his, you know, gravesite, and you couldn't really walk back on your own--"

Chiara reached out and grasped Drew's wrist, her grip surprisingly tight considering her condition.

"What did you do?"

"Well, I carried you--"

Chiara gasped. "You didn't!"

"I had to! What was I going to do, leave you there?"

She began to cry. "I'm so sorry to have caused so much bother, I'm so so sorry--"

"Hush, you." Drew grabbed another cloth and wiped her face. "You've got to stop crying, yeah? It's not good for you, especially as weak as you are now."

"What do you mean? How long has it been?" She reached out and touched Drew's cheek, which had some stubble on it.

"Nearly a week," Drew said, his voice soft. "Ned and I have been taking turns caring for you, and I had a doctor out, just to be safe. He said you had a viral infection, probably exacerbated by not eating right or caring for yourself in the days before your dad's funeral." 

He ran a finger down Chiara's cheek, mimicking the way she'd touched his moments before. "Was he right? Hm? When did you last have a decent meal?"

Chiara shook her head. "I don't remember."

"Well, we're going to take care of that straight away, yeah? Now that you're rational, and the fever seems to have broken, you can probably eat some soup, right?"

Chiara nodded, then shook her head again. "But you don't have to tend me anymore, honest. I can take care of myself. And I certainly don't have to stay in your room anymore. I'm so sorry to have put you out."

She looked under the sheet before addressing him again. "May I ask who took my dress off?"

Drew cleared his throat. "I did," he admitted, looking everywhere but at her. "But I had to, you were soaked through, and I swear I didn't do anything untoward, honest."

Chiara gave him a ghost of a smile. "I'm not worried about anything like that. It's probably the fantasy of most girls in the world to have Drew Pennington undress them, anyway, don't you think?"

Drew made a face. "I expect more from you, Chiara Cavuto," he admonished.

Just then, Ned opened the door and poked his head in. "You need me to spell you for a bit?" he asked. Then he noticed Chiara.

"Hey, you!" He smiled as he came toward the bed. "Marvelous to see you awake and aware at last."

"I'm feeling pretty good," she admitted. "Though I'll feel much better if I could go home and take a bath?" she tried.

"Bath, possibly, going home, no way," Drew replied, shaking his head. "You're definitely not ready to be on your own for a few days yet," he added sternly. "But if you can walk to that door there, which leads to the bath, I'll let you take a bath, deal?"

"Yes sir," Chiara agreed meekly.

She was able to make it to the bathroom unaided, so the boys agreed to let her take a bath. When she got out, she found one of Ned's shirts and a pair of his boxers, which made her howl with laughter, waiting for her.

The boys could hear her laughing from outside the bathroom, and they looked at each other and smiled, imagining her holding up the knickers with the ducks on them.

While she was in the bath, they quickly changed the sheets on the bed, and heated up some soup, which they had ready for her when she emerged.

And, independence aside, Chiara had to admit that it was heaven to be clean and climb into a bed with crisp, clean sheets.

"I can feed myself," she insisted, but after about three spoonfuls, she was suddenly worn out, to her disgust, and Drew took over the task of feeding her the delicious soup.

The two boys kept up a constant stream of lighthearted chatter, so she wouldn't dwell on her circumstances, and she ate about half the soup before she held up her hand, indicating that she was full.

"Water, then?" Drew asked.

Chiara nodded, but while Drew was putting the soup aside and grabbing the water, she grew silent, and when he turned back to her with the straw, the boys saw to their surprise that Chiara, exhausted, had fallen back asleep.