I could ignore her she did after all reject me. However, I'm a gentleman and I didn't make myself clear and besides the state that she is in... No one with a soul could ignore her. What makes me mad is that everyone is. These social niceties are actually cruel. She's been at the hospital making sure to stay out of my sight but others have reported to me that she's here. Inventorying linen of all things and tidying up the medicine cabinet. Her staff has told me she doesn't sleep and when she does her sleep is racked with fits. I tell the staff at her home and the hospital to leave her be but I want updates as to what she is doing. I feel a little deceptive but I quickly transmute it into caring with my physicians mind (I need to know if she is eating).

I'm stirring a pot of something one of my patients gave me on my stove when I hear a knock at my door. I move the pot so I don't burn whatever it is I'm going to eat and go to answer it. A quick flick of my wrist reveals it's just after seven. I quickly go through my mind as to who it could be. I don't think it would be Mr. Fitzpatrick, I only stitched him up a few days ago and he promised to keep his wound clean nonetheless infection can-

I open the door and my mental narrative stops for she is there. I take in her appearance and notice she has her shoes in her hand.

"Why are you carrying your shoes?" I ask not recognizing my voice.

She looks down at them absently as if only realizing now that she had them in her hands. Her eyes are glassy when she looks at me, "They were giving me blisters."

"You walked here?" I nearly shout.

She flinches and I cringe before grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside. She goes willingly which has me worrying. I sit her down on my settee and rush to the kitchen there isn't much tea left in the pot so I augment it with a healthy portion of whisky. I take it to her and she damn near inhales it. I can't see any obvious injury which which is good thing yet for me a bad thing. I have been trained to stitch, reduce, set, mend and excise problems with the human body. I'm not much of a comforter. I look at her again she is playing with the teacup. I have no clue what to do now, should I make more? She inhales sharply as she rearranges her legs and I know something I can do. I go to the kitchen heat up some water while I rummage for a basin. I poke my head out and see that she hasn't moved. Reaching high into a cupboard I find the epsom salts. I mix up the solution and bring it out. I place it before her but she doesn't seem to notice. I ready myself for a slap and reach under her skirts for an ankle. My hand makes contact with her ankle and I use my other hand to push up her skirt so it won't get soaked with the epsom salt bath. I guide her foot to the bath and one of my hands rests on her calf. By instinct I knead it and finally she looks at me. A brief smile from her and she places her feet into the bath. I feel triumphant, the triumph morphs into elation when she joins me in a bowl of the concoction I had on the stove. The combination of whisky, a decent meal and the sleepless nights have her dozing. I move her feet out of the bath and towel them off before swinging her legs up onto the settee. I grab a light blanket and cover her with it. I then sit in my chair with the newspaper and wait.

Two hours later she moans in her sleep and I know what to do. I touch her shoulder and she wakes. I find myself smiling a bit when she blearily rubs an eye. I sit next to her and just begin to talk, I talk about Scotland,about my appalling cooking, anything that comes to mind. She falls back asleep and I still sit beside her. Whenever she makes a sound I am there to soothe her back into a sort of peaceful slumber.

I don't mean to fall asleep in fact it's with a start that my eyes fly open and my head swivels toward the clock. My neck cracks sharply and I mutter a curse. Beside me I feel a strange pattern of movement a rolling of sorts. I look over and see Isobel, she is laughing.

"Go on and laugh," I moan as I sit up and place my elbows on my knees encouraging my head to hang down to work out some kinks. Something in my body cracks again and I expel a breath. Suddenly there is warmth, I recognize the feel of her hands as they rub circles on my back. She seems to have gotten over her merriment, "I"m sorry, it was just funny almost like a cartoon."

I can't remember the last time she smiled openly or laughed. It is in this moment that I would be more than willing to cut off my arm if it would make her smile. I return her smile and she pats my knee before rising and moving towards the kitchen, "Tea?"

"Aye" is my answer.

I'm not paying attention to what I'm doing and as I stand up I put my foot into the now cold epsom salt bath with a splash. "Damn!" is my shout. My anger doesn't last long since there is howls of laughter from the kitchen.