The DreamWalker Series

Losing You - fading

Ellette retired to the living room and her old, familiar pull out couch. She'd been considering investing in a futon, but since she'd not needed to use the couch since they'd moved, she'd forgotten how uncomfortable the old bed had become. Laying down, she couldn't help but wish for the warmth of Rand beside her. Ellette found herself studying the card that Boris had left.

Did she dare call him? Was she ready for what he had to tell her? She sighed, fingering the worn and fraying edges. It was easy enough to explain away its appearance in her pocket. It was the one she'd picked up from that cafe long ago. Though she hadn't seen it for ages, she could reason that she'd simply forgotten it had been in her pocket.

Of course, considering her talents and the stresses in her life of late, it was also becoming easier to believe he'd put it there by some magical means. After a while, she put the wrinkled card down on the side table and rolled over on her side. Sleep came with difficulty, she was cold, restless, and fearful of what her dreams would bring.

She awoke from a blissfully dreamless rest to the sounds of Rand in the kitchen. Groggy and disoriented, she sat up to look over the back of the couch. It was still dark out, and while the days had been growing shorter, she was sure it was still too early, especially after he'd worked such a late shift the night before.

"What are you doing up?" Her voice was slurred, and she rubbed her eyes, blinking to focus. He'd turned on the light over the stove, but it didn't do much to illuminate the kitchen.

"Looking for the Advil..." he muttered, and a clatter of pill bottles spilling from the small medicine cabinet followed.

She forced her heavy lids open and climbed to her feet. "Headache?" she asked, making her way to the kitchen, shivering slightly outside the cocoon of her blankets.

"Fever I think," his voice was groggy and muted as he bent to gather up the bottles. She crouched to help him, taking the bottles.

Setting them on the table, she put a hand on his forehead. He was indeed feverish. "You're burning up. Go sit, I'll find the medicine." He nodded, clearly relieved, and shuffled to the couch. He sat down hard, leaning back against the couch back.

He'd managed to spill the majority of their small stash of bottles, and she had to fish a couple from under the cabinets before she was able to find the right one. She fumbled around in the fridge for a carton of coconut water, something he seemed to enjoy, and brought him pills. She stood for a moment, staring down at him, his hand on his forehead, eyes closed. He was still, his eyes pressed closed, his mouth set in a hard line as if fighting some internal battle. She reached out to him once more, fingers brushing against his forehead; it was creased, his face set in lines she was not familiar with. He was the optimist, his features, while well lined with grief, always seemed to soften into the rare, kind soul he was. To see him struggling, it set her on edge.

She cleared her throat. "Is coconut water okay?"

He nodded and took the offered medicine and drink. She settled onto the couch, the heat radiating from him was unnerving. He was never ill. Despite his work, or perhaps because of his work, he didn't ever seem to pick up the colds or the flu that made their rounds. Between health foods, yoga, and his very nature, she'd begun to think he couldn't get sick.

"Is there something going around at work?" she asked, and took the drink from him, setting it down on the table beside the couch. He hadn't moved except to swallow the pills.

He shook his head slowly. "I don't think so... nothing more than usual," he muttered.

"Maybe something at the cabin?"

"It's my throat. It's been a while, but my tonsils..." he sighed and reached for the carton, taking a long drink. "Should have had them removed. I'll be fine in a day or so."