Lucien balanced the tea tray in one hand as he pushed open Jean's bedroom door, greeting her with a soft, "It's me, Jean."
She had fallen ill nearly two days ago and it was only after a dizzy spell in the kitchen that she had heeded Lucien's pleas to rest. Since then, Jean hadn't moved from bed and Lucien was more than willing to dote upon her. After so many months of her taking care of him, the role reversal was welcome.
And if he took a special pride in being the one she leaned on in times of sickness, well, that was for Lucien to covet.
Jean stirred beneath the heavy comforter and her eyes flickered open. "Lucien?"
Shuffling into the room, he placed the tray down on the bedside table and took a seat on the edge of her bed. Her cheeks were still flushed with fever and her eyes were glassy. "I'm just checking your fever, alright?"
He placed his palm on her forehead and sighed. Still unreasonably warm but not dangerously high. He would need to fix her up a cold compress to help bring the fever down. Perhaps he could persuade Mattie to help her with a cooling bath.
Beneath his touch Jean sighed and he watched, bemused, as she strained upwards, trying to push her head up into his touch. He swept the hair off her forehead, "You're still running a bit of fever. How do you feel?"
She groaned and turned her head away, seeking out the coolness of the pillow. "Terrible," she rasped out. She looked anguished. "Lucien, I'm so sorry. The house must be a mess and you can't handle appointments on your own-"
Before he could interrupt, she broke into a coughing fit. Immediately, Lucien was there to help her sit up and prop her against a stack of pillows. He fussed over her and rubbed a hand over her back, soothing the worst of the cough.
Jean fell back onto the pillows, exhausted, sweat on her brow and eyes closing. Lucien's heart ached for her. Seeing his normally strong-well, Lucien didn't know what to call her. His normally strong Jean reduced to a coughing, feverish mess made Lucien feel particularly helpless.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss to the back of her fingers. "Rest. There's tea and water here if you want it. I'm going to get you a cold compress. I'll be right back."
He tucked the corners of the blanket around her and allowed himself to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers. Rising from the bed, he went to his study, desperate to find a spare vial of penicillin. The Ballarat pharmacy promised him a prescription ready in a few days, but he wanted Jean healed now.
As he suspected, there was no penicillin to be found and he would have to wait on the pharmacist. But he could give her a cold compress-even if it was just temporary relief.
Gathering the towel, ice, and pitcher of cool water up, he headed back to her room. He promised himself he would stop hovering and let her rest after this.
(He knew it was a promise he wouldn't keep.)
Once more, he pushed the door open and found Jean restlessly tossing and turning in her sleep. He couldn't help but notice she was sweating profusely and her nightgown was sticking to her skin, highlighting every curve of her body.
Hastily dropping his gaze, he rushed to the bed, already dipping the towel into the cool water and wringing it out. "Jean, it's alright, I'm here."
But Jean continued to toss and then he heard it.
"Lucien, don't go...don't leave me...need...please..."
Lucien's heart stopped and restarted in his chest. Jean's distress was palpable. He had seen this more often than he'd cared to mention. Fever had a way of forcing a person's worst fears-or greatest pleasures-to the forefront of the mind. It appeared that one of Jean's greatest fears revolved around him.
She thought he would leave her? Didn't she know things had changed between them? That he would never leave her again?
The compress now dripping onto the mattress, Lucien reached up and laid it over her forehead, urging it to bring the fever down. Jean thrashed under the covers, kicking them off her body.
"Lucien...please...don't go..."
Helplessly, Lucien could do nothing but croon at her. "I'm here, love." The pet name fell from his lips easily, surprising him.
Jean's face turned towards the sound of his voice and he hurried to continue. "I'm never leaving you, Jeannie. Never. It's you and me. You're stuck with me." Lucien's words seemed to calm her but she still twitched and shook. Swallowing thickly, Lucien settled his hand over her stomach, rubbing soft circles into the sweat-slicked fabric.
The touch immediately calmed her and the lines on Jean's face faded away, her motions stilling. She covered his hand with hers and sighed, lacing their fingers together and rolling over, bringing Lucien with her. He fell off balance and ended up laying behind her, spooning her. Jean's breaths were coming in rasps but she slept on, peacefully.
Cautiously, he nosed at the nape of her neck and noted that the skin already felt cooler. Her fever was breaking. Jean snuggled back into his embrace, unconsciously seeking his warmth.
In that moment, Lucien made a decision. Whispering into the skin of her neck, Lucien made a vow to Jean: "I promise to never leave you. I promise to never go where you can't follow. I promise."
Jean's soft snores were the only response. Lucien sighed, a weight leaving his chest, and closed his eyes. He would allow himself to hold her, just a few moments more. And then, he would disentangle himself from her grip and pick up her prescription. He would make her better.
And then, then they would talk, and everything would change.