Of Life, Love, Magic & War [A FBAWTFT FanFic]

Chapter 22: Ghosts

"It helps, I promise." Percival tried.

"I am not letting you waltz around inside my head." She insisted with a harsh gasp as she rolled further away from him and curled up into a ball.

"Edith," He called softly as he stroked the back of her head while she buried her face in a pillow.

"Go away!" She shouted into it, once again shooing away his well-meaning gestures.

Percival wasn't going to try arguing with her, he was certain Queenie had offered the same but the ginger was just too damn stubborn so he stood up and made Edith a strong cup of tea. She barely touched it as she stared vacantly at the wall and he found himself at the sink again, washing his face with cold water and resigning himself to staying in his undershirt. His dress shirt was still decent, he just couldn't stand the feeling of being buttoned up so properly in the unbearable heat cooking the city.

The day proved to be a difficult one for them both, Percival eased Edith through three more episodes by the time she finished the lunch he brought to her in bed. She didn't touch it and after ignoring Percival for some time, she insisted on cleaning herself up so he filled the wash basin for her and helped her to the kitchen, drawing the window shade to keep anyone from invading her privacy. Edith was not happy with the setup, of course, she insisted that Percival leave her home completely instead of letting him sit in the next room with his eyes closed but he wasn't going to take the chance of letting her drown if she lost consciousness while she bathed.

"I'd rather be dead than trust you to keep your perverted gaze away from my direction," Edith told him.

"You are impossible." Percival huffed.

"I am a lady." She reminded him and just to assure her that he wouldn't peek presented her wand to her, picked up a book, and conjured a thick velvet curtain to shield her form and maintain her modesty.

"You have permission to strike me dead if at any time you feel my eyes upon you even though I promise you they won't be," Percival said as he drew the veil closed and sat in a chair with his back to the other room just for good measure.

Edith hated the curtain, and she swore his eyes would bleed for eternity if he broke his word. The cat seemed to hate the curtain too and tried climbing the curtain causing Edith to hiss at Hamish in displeasure as she washed. Percival couldn't help but chuckle as she did, his eyes fixated on the words within the book he had grabbed as he waited patiently for her to finish.

When she was done, she redressed herself in a clean nightgown and her robe before permitting him to help her back to bed which he knew she only allowed because of how physically exhausting her soaping had been. It was evident by the dark circles that appeared under her eyes and the way her hair sat messily over her shoulders as she buried herself under the covers, her hairbrush ignored on the vanity.

It was obvious to Percival that she wouldn't last much longer if she continued in her steadfast ways. The fever was eating away at her, the more she tried to keep herself together, the more violent her fits became, and every time they hit she would cover her face so that Percival couldn't witness what she proclaimed was a momentary bout of weakness. It was so silly, he didn't care if she bawled in front of him or if her nightgown was sweat-soaked and her hair was unwashed or unbrushed, he just wanted her to feel better.

"Edith, you're hurting yourself," Percival told her after another fit forced its way through her after dinner but she didn't answer him.

"You don't have to be afraid of sharing your mind with me. I can say most confidently that nothing is lurking in your thoughts that can frighten me. The fever will break once you do." He reminded her and she scoffed at that.