Author's note: This has been in my head for awhile, but now that the craziness of the holidays is over, I may have time to actually get it down! This takes place early Season 3 and any medical info in this story is completely made up for dramatic purposes…I hope you enjoy and leave a review!
He was trying, quite unsuccessfully, to not think about how perfectly her hand fit within his. She was sleeping finally, albeit more fitfully than he would have liked to see, but the delirium that had plagued her a few hours ago had thankfully subsided to the point that she could rest a little. Every now and then her brow would furrow or her head would move from side to side, but she continued to sleep, leaving him with his thoughts, holding her hand by her bedside. He has no recollection of Mattie coming in, but the evidence of her presence is there in the light cast by small lamp by Jean's dressing table and a (now cold) cup of tea at his elbow on the night stand. Her curls are every which way on the pillow, and he smiles when he thinks that she would probably be horrified if anyone saw her like that; but she is stunningly beautiful as she is and his heart gives a little lurch as he wishes that they were at a place where he could tell her so. Not too long ago he had held her in his arms as she cried for her son, and what started out as a gesture of comfort had turned into something else entirely. He knows that if the bloody phone hadn't rung just then, he would've kissed her, but what he is less sure about is whether or not she would have kissed him back.
Jean had half-fainted at lunch the previous day, thankfully while Mattie was home. Jean had protested that she was only a little under the weather, but Mattie prevailed and called Lucien at the police station. By the time he arrived (much sooner than Mattie had thought possible), Jean was semi-conscious, and running a dangerously high fever that had necessitated a swift reaction. For a few weeks now, Ballarat and its environs had been beset with a mysterious illness, and all of Lucien and Mattie's spare time had occupied with it. A Doctor Phelps, who Lucien knew slightly, even came from Sydney to research what was going on. So it happened that within an hour of her fainting spell, a vial of Jean's blood had been dispatched to the lab at Ballarat Hospital while Jean herself was tucked into her bed, under the worried care of her employer.
He brushed his fingers gently across her temple; she still felt too warm. A distant memory surfaced of a matron back in his medical student days who could tell a patient's temperature within a tenth of a degree just by touch. He dearly wished for that ability now as it was nearly time to take her temperature again and he was loathe to disturb her.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Mattie closed the door behind her and wearily leaned against it. Her shift at the hospital had been busy and she yearned for a cuppa and a long nap. Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the house was quiet. Lucien had cancelled all his surgery appointments when Jean had fallen ill, and Charlie would still be at work until dinnertime at least. She went upstairs, and was not at all surprised to see that Lucien had not moved from where he was when she left at dawn.
"You should get some rest, Lucien," she said softly.
"Later," was his reply, his eyes never leaving the form in the bed.
"Lucien…"
She's using her no-nonsense nurse voice, and in his head he knows she's right, that he's no use to anyone hungry and sleep-deprived, but his heart balks at leaving for even an instant.
"…I'll stay with her, and come get you if anything changes, I promise."
He's left with little choice, so he reluctantly heads downstairs, takes a quick shower, then instead of heading to bed, goes to the study, a medical book in one hand and a large scotch in the other.