Riff carefully kept his balance as he made his way up the stairs while carrying a cup of tea and a bowl of porridge. One of the maids briefly met his eyes and then hurried away. It was uncertain time in the Hargreaves household. The boy that that the servants had been ordered to ignore was now their master. Riff, who had been brought in as a minor footman, was now the master's valet. And it was clear to everyone that however the servant hierarchy was officially laid out, Riff was the one who had all of Cain's confidence.

However, none of that was particularly pressing at the moment. Riff had more immediate concerns, mainly an ill lord. Cain had come down with a nasty cold, and it was making his already volatile mood even more unpredictable.

Riff knew he was worrying too much. It was only a cold, however vicious. Cain was young and strong; he was in no danger. Nevertheless, this was the first time Cain had been ill since Riff had arrived, and Riff wanted him to suffer as little as possible.

It wasn't easy to rap on the door with both of his hands full, but somehow Riff managed it. "My lord?"

After a pause, a muffled, stuffed sounding voice filtered out from behind the door. "Come in."

Maneuvering carefully, Riff entered the room and shut the door behind him. "I brought you more tea. And something to eat." He showed Cain the bowl of porridge.

"I don't want it." Cain's voice was stifled, both by his cold and by the fact that he had a blanket over his head.

Riff looked at the previous cup of tea, which was sitting cold and untouched. "You have to eat, my lord, or at the very least have some tea."

"No."

Riff sighed. "You have to eat something. You haven't had anything since yesterday morning, and that was just a single piece of toast."

Cain sat up and pulled the blanket down angrily. "I said I didn't want it! Don't you listen? Aren't you supposed to be my servant?"

Riff didn't lose his equilibrium. "Of course I'm your servant. Therefore, it's my my duty to take care of you."

"I don't need to to take care of me. I need you to do as I say."

Riff frowned. He was used to seeing Cain act like this with his relatives and tutors, but Riff was almost never on the receiving end of such vitriol. "I always wish to obey you, but in this case I must disagree. Please stop being so obstinate, sir."

Cain glared with such ferocity that Riff took a step back. "Didn't you hear me? I said go away!" Riff was forced to duck as the formally neglected teacup smashed against the wall where his head had been.

Watching the tea trickle down the wall to soak into the floor, Riff stiffened. Enough was enough. "Stop that," he said sternly. Cain's eyes widened. "You are behaving abysmally," Riff continued, his voice hard. "You aren't a toddler to throw tantrums." Cain was looking at him in total shock. Riff realized that he had never spoken sharply to his master before. With good reason. Riff felt terrible, but he didn't regret his words. He wasn't scolding Cain to punish him. His master was better than this, and Riff knew it.

Cain's shoulders shook. "Fine! I don't need you anyway! If you hate me so much then you should just go! Go and leave me all alone!"

There was such anguish on Cain's face that Riff felt his heart melt at once. And he thought he finally understood what was at the heart of Cain's fiercer than usual temper. He sat on the bed beside Cain and placed his hand on his back. He felt a surge of contentment when Cain didn't stiffen or pull away. No one else was allowed to touch Cain like this. "Did anyone ever care for you when you were sick before I came?" he asked softly.

Cain crossed his arms. "I didn't need them," he said sullenly.

Riff thought of Cain as a small boy, weak and feverish, surrounded by a monstrous father and uncaring servants. There would have been no one to take him tea or sit by his bedside.

Riff had figured out quickly that Cain had virtually no experience with affection. The love and care Riff showed confused him, and it was always difficult to tell how he would react. Sometimes he would latch on to Riff, soaking in the attention. Other times he would lash out, unnerved by Riff's concern. This was clearly one of the latter times.

Riff pulled Cain close. "I want to help you. You know that, right?" Cain was still for several moments. Then he nodded. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but eating will help you get well."

Cain glared at him, but there was little heat in it. "How do you know?"

Riff smiled. "I was almost a doctor, remember?"

Cain snorted. "They probably would have kicked you out eventually." His voice was so petulant that Riff had to stifle a laugh. Cain stared hard at Riff. "I only like porridge when it has currants and honey."

Riff nodded. "I know." Cain nodded once, then opened his mouth. It took Riff a moment to realize what his master wanted. Then he shrugged mentally. He had indulged stranger whims. He took the porridge, only slightly cooled, from the desk he had placed it on. Careful not to spill any, he fed Cain about half the bowl before Cain frowned and turned away.

"I can't eat any more," Cain said. Riff stood and gathered the dishes, preparing to leave. "Wait." Riff turned. "Stay with me?" Cain asked. He held out a book. "Until I fall asleep."

"Of course." Riff sat down and took the book. He opened to the page Cain had marked and began to read. "It was dark and quiet. Neither moon nor stars were visible. There was a smell like rain in the still, heavy air, and I put my hand out of a window. No. The rain was only threatening; it had not yet come." He continued until Cain closed his eyes and his breathing became slow and deep. Riff put the book aside and picked up the dishes. Opening the door, he looked back at his sleeping master. "You'll feel better in the morning, my lord," he whispered. Then he left the room, silently closing the door behind him.