AN: Oh my god, a non-Batman story. This is for some e-book I found called The House on the Moor. Not bad. Fairly creepy, actually. And Nathan may or may not be a murderer…anyway, Abigail is his nurse-he's sick. With something. *shrugs* But I have an untreated fluff addiction, so this happened. You should check out the book-it's like, a dollar on Amazon.


"Nathan?" She hoped he was asleep, but she opened the door all the same.

He was not asleep. He was lying in bed, his hair plastered down with sweat and his eyes shiny with fever.

"Nathan." She turned up the lamp a little more. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well, I wouldn't have…"

"Abigail." His voice was cracked and weak. "Thought you weren't comin' back."

"Where'd you get that idea?" She tugged him up enough that he wouldn't choke and poured him out a glass of water. "Take a drink…" He shrank back from her as far as the pillows would allow. "Nathan, for heaven's sake."

"She said you weren't comin' back."

"Who said I wasn't coming back? Come on, take a drink."

He didn't draw back this time, but he only took a tiny sip before melting back down into the mattress.

"She did." He coughed. She wet a cloth and wiped his face and neck. "She said…"

"Shh. You had a bad dream, that's all." He shook his head. "You did, I promise. Come on, take another drink."

He took the glass from her this time and drained it. She rubbed the cloth over his hair and tucked him in.

"Go to sleep. You look exhausted."

He looked at her from under lowered lashes.

"Don't leave."

What was wrong with him? He was never like this, even on his worst days. Was he delirious?

A quick check said that his fever was high but not dangerously so. It had certainly been this high before.

"I won't leave, Nathan." she said. "Go to sleep."

He said nothing else for a long time, and when she looked at him again his breathing was soft and as easy as it ever was. She sighed and settled into the armchair to wait.

At some point after the sun had set, he woke again, coughing weakly. She poured him out a glass of water and sat him up.

"Come on…drink this down."

He took the glass from her, drank half, and dropped back against his pillows.

"Abigail."

"Shh."

"Wha' time s'it?"

"A little after six." she said. "How about some supper?"

"Supper?"

"We've got some bread still, from yesterday, and I think I can manage fried ham."

He shook his head and snuggled down under the blankets again.

"Not tonight, Abigail. Please…"

"All right. Go on back to sleep, then."

He did not speak again for the rest of the night.

THE END