Camila stopped again, panting. Her brain was fuzzy and she was sure she was going crazy, hearing dogs barking, seeing lights. She even thought she heard Shawn's voice. She closed her eyes. Just rest for a moment, then do it again, she thought. Her book light had run out and her phone didn't have a lot of charge left. She'd finished the granola bar, and half the water, even though it was so icy it made her teeth ache, despite keeping it tucked up inside her clothes. Her eyes drifted shut and she heard a smash, feeling tiny pieces of something falling about her. She was Elsa, causing ice to whirl around in a magical dance. I'm going loony, she thought.
"Hey, can you hear me?" Oh, it was Shawn. Hi Shawn.
"Woof woof woof." Hiya Hagrid, missed ya buddy.
"Come on, honey, lets get you out of here," She loved the way Shawn said honey. Sigh.
"Lift your arms up," She did what he asked. She'd do anything for Shawn. She snuggled her face into her sweat pant scarf again and felt him pull her up by her arms. The cold made her gasp as it rushed in from the open window.
"Purse," she mumbled. She needed all her things. "PURSE." She thought she'd said it louder.
"Really?" Shawn's voice mumbled, but he fiddled around, found her purse and dropped her phone and book inside then hooked it over her head before pulling her out.
She felt herself lifting up, and up. She was going to heaven. And Shawn and Hagrid were there. Well of course they were, she loved them, they'd have to be there.
"Love you Shawn," she muttered.
"What?" he stopped.
"Love you Shawn, love you Hagrid."
She felt the scarf being pulled away from her face. And she smiled.
"Love you so much Shawn, glad you're in heaven with me."
Shawn looked at the face beneath the sweat pants in astonishment. It was Camila. How the FUCK was it Camila? Hagrid barked. So that was what had happened. The dog had somehow known it was Camila. He had saved her.
"Good boy," he said huskily. God, she could have died. Still could if he didn't get her back and warmed up.
"Not a boy," she mumbled.
"You don't need to tell ME that," Shawn muttered, throwing her over his shoulder. She was wearing a lot of clothes, she felt like a ragdoll. He could barely see the yellow glow of the Farmhouse and at some point he wasn't sure he was even seeing it, worried it was just his imagination tricking him, but a short time later, he found himself at the gates, and hurried inside, Hagrid at his heels. The dog ran straight to the fire that was still roaring in the hearth, but Shawn didn't stop, heading up to the master bath. He lay Camila on the floor and ran the bath as warm as he could. Should he put bubbles in? Such a stupid thought, but he somehow thought it might be safer. Safer than seeing her naked in the bath. Seriously, Mendes, you need to keep her alive, not ravish her in the bathroom. There wasn't any bubble bath anyway. He looked at her, passed out on the floor and took a deep breath before starting at her shoes.
It took a while to get the layers off, but she lay there, in her underwear. Maybe he should leave them on? Why, Shawn, it's not like you haven't seen it all before, more times than you can count. Isn't like you haven't kissed every inch of her or anything. Isn't like you don't think about her all the time, including what she looks like naked. Jeez man, just hurry up, she's hypothermic! Before he could think twice he whipped off her panties and bra and trying to keep it clinical he lifted her and put her into the warm bath.
She was floating and she was warm, so warm. Something soft was brushing across her face. Oh, that's right, she was in heaven. She sighed.
"Mila? Open your eyes honey."
Oh yeah, Shawn was here, in heaven with her.
She loved Shawn. She frowned. That didn't seem right somehow.
Oh yeah. She was getting married.
Her mind was trying to grab onto something, but she was having trouble grasping it.
She tried her hardest and finally opened her eyes. Shawn loomed over her, wearing a black turtle neck with the sleeves pushed up. Steam rose from the water and he was wiping her face with a warm, wet cloth. His hair had grown longer and the curls were damp and hung over her like a nursery mobile. She reached up an arm that felt like it was made of lead and gently batted at the dangling curl. He was looking at her and she smiled at him. Oh, he had grown a beard! He looked like a French poet or a musketeer or something. She liked it. She moved her hand to his chin and rubbed the hair there.
"Nice," she managed. He grabbed her wrist and placed it back in the water.
"Scoot down a little, into the water," he instructed. She did as he said. Sliding under the water. Oh, it was SO warm in here. She felt herself being pulled out of it. Oh damn, it had felt sooooo good.
"Jesus, Camila, I didn't save you from a blizzard just for you to drown in the bath!"
Blizzard? Bath? The puzzle pieces that floated around in her brain started to join together and suddenly she was awake. She opened her eyes wide with a sense of panic. Where was she? She looked around in terror.
Shawn was sitting back on his haunches beside the bath and she felt her mouth fall open.
"SHAWN?" He was really here. It wasn't a dream. She remembered the dog barking, and then she was pulled up, out of the car.
"Hagrid?" she asked croakily, her eyes closed again.
"He saved you," Shawn said. She smiled, opening her eyes to see the big black face of the dog.
"Oh hello baby," she pulled herself up and reached out an arm with difficulty, ruffling his head and neck. His tongue lolled out of his smiling mouth, well at least it appeared to be smiling. She had missed this beautiful animal. "Good boy, thank you for finding me."
Shawn stood and turned away, pulling a fresh, fluffy bath sheet down from the shelf. He stared out of the small bathroom window. The bottom half was filled with snow, the top was pitch black and the snow laden wind whistled and moaned past. What sort of sick joke was the universe playing on him now? He had come here to be alone, to find some peace and refocus, after his life had spiralled out of control since he and Camila had split. And here she was, naked, in his bath, hugging his dog, during a blizzard that he expected to keep him snowed in for a week at least, maybe longer.
He turned and placed the towel onto the chair beside the bath, then turned his back again. "Do you think you can get out on your own?"
Camila was quiet and he heard the water swish a bit before a small voice said: "No."
Fuck fuck fuck. Are you kidding me?
He turned and grabbed the towel, opening it and throwing it over the chair and then he leaned in and grasped her under the arms. Her skin was soft and thankfully warm. He lifted her up, feeling her trembling with the exertion of her legs trying to hold her weight. She managed to lift her legs over the edge of the bath, and he helped her to sit on the chair, quickly wrapping the towel around her. He pulled out another towel and vigorously rubbed her hair until it was almost dry, then he picked her up under her back and knees and carried her into the master bedroom.
The room was large with a huge king sized bed dominating the space. It was toasty warm with the fire roaring, and rugs scattered over the wooden floor. On the other side of the room there was a long window seat where he liked to sit to play guitar. He'd set himself up in there so he was nearby in case she needed him. For now he sat her on the edge of the bed and went to the wardrobe, pulling out a Kings of Leon tour t-shirt, washed thin, that would be oversized on her, and a pair of his socks. He passed them to her and turned his back so she could dress. They were silent as she changed and slipped under the covers. He had turned the electric blanket on and the bed was warm, and she snuggled down into it with a sigh.
"I'll go get you some tea," he muttered, and headed off down the stairs. Camila watched him go in a sense of amazement. Of all the people to find her, it was Shawn. Oh, and Hagrid of course. She remembered when he had been one or two, she would put his paws on her shoulders and dance and sing with him. Her silly routine to keep warm in the car could well have been what had saved her life, because the dog had obviously heard her. He leapt up onto the bed as if he knew she was thinking of him, stretching out beside her, and placing his head on her leg. She reached down and stroked him, a lump in her throat.
"Thank you, boy, for saving me."
She noticed a remote on the bedside table and reached for it, flicking on the tv. The reception was terrible, and every channel had a news report about the weather. She watched with growing horror as they advised people to hunker down, as the cold front was expected to get worse before it got better, and that most people, especially in the north, should plan to be snowed in for up to two weeks. She wondered where her purse was, with her phone in it. She needed to try to call Matthew. The TV reception suddenly dropped out, and she turned it off with the remote and put it back down just as Shawn re-entered with a cup of tea sweetened with honey and some thick sliced bread, slathered in butter and jam.
He looked sideways at the television as he placed the tray on her lap.
"The TV was working?" he asked with surprise. "Anything important on the news?"
"It's not working anymore I don't think. They say we could be snowed in for a week or more."
He nodded, as if he already knew that. She looked at him properly for the first time. He was pale, which wasn't a surprise since it was winter in the UK, so was she for that matter, but the high neck of his black sweater made him look even more so. His only colour came from his lips and cheeks which were red from the cold. His hair had grown longer in the past month and he looked like he hadn't shaved for quite a while. She remembered thinking in the bath, when she was a little delirious, that she liked it, and she decided she had been right. He was always so smoothly shaven and perfectly groomed, she liked this relaxed Shawn. She felt like she should have been concerned that he wasn't looking after himself, that he'd let himself go and didn't care, but she didn't get that vibe at all. His hair, though long, looked like he'd styled it (although a walk in a blizzard seemed to have made short work of it) and his beard was neatly trimmed. He smelled nice, she recalled, a different cologne than he used to wear. Altogether he seemed more mature and she liked it. Not that it mattered of course. She was engaged to Matthew after all.