Authors Note: Long time no see! I got a new laptop today which is amazing and I'm so excited to be able to write more! I hope you all enjoy this little one-shot. Expect to see more of me soon. Not my favorite story, but...it'll do? Don't forget to R&R! :)
Dashwood had no idea what to expect when she opened her eyes. She had felt herself lift in and out of consciousness several times that morning, her fever making her body ache in such a horrid way that the moment she considered opening her eyes, she quickly decided against it, bracing against the pain. She couldn't quite describe what she was feeling; it was odd, this situation. She was tucked into bed with several quilts atop of her body, and she felt the lovely sensation of a cool rag placed on her forehead, her arms, her hair, many times just in that short morning. She heard voices, able to identify her sisters and her mother's voice quickly, and she grew agitated, hearing them, being so close to them, but being without the strength she needed to raise her voice, or open her eyes for longer than a moment, or to reach her hand out towards them. But finally, she felt the bed sink slightly, where her feet were, and she realized the body sitting there was much heavier than her usual guests of Margaret, Elinor and her mother, and once, Mrs. Jennings. Everyone else had stayed away because of her illness and the fact that it may be contagious, she would eventually learn. She felt a hand on her foot, gone as quickly as it had been put there, and heard a small breath. She had enough strength to open her eyes then, to see who it was that was with her, but she didn't open them just yet. For some reason, she felt that she knew who was there.. Colonel Brandon? And sure enough, a deep, strong voice filled the room with its grace and velvety tone. He did not greet her, did not tell her hello, or talk about the weather or the day's events, like her mother and sisters had done for the last couple of days that she spent in confinement. They were just trying to fill the air, she knew, to make it seem less bleak, less dull in her room, knowing that the middle sister could not stand silence for long. They weren't sure if she could hear every word, or understood with her fever still muddling things in her brain, but still, they talked. But no, Colonel Brandon did not speak of these things. Instead, he took his breath of air, and began reading. He read, and he read. He read her favorite pieces of poetry, short ones, she could hear the rustling of the pages, hear him clear his throat once. She could feel him adjust his seat a couple of times, and every time he moved, she wanted to rise up and take his arm and ask him to stay. Her eyes were still closed, she felt glued to the bed. Although she had been able to talk to her family once or twice in the last day, and she knew she could more than likely speak more this morning, speak to him, she did not want to break this moment. He was being bold, much bolder than Colonel Brandon had ever been, and she feared that if she opened her eyes and talked, he would leave, or apologize, or something else crazy of that sort.
Why had he come here? Simply to..to read to her? She suddenly wondered if this was his first visit. This was not something that he would take lightly, coming to her, as sick as she must've looked (she could only imagine this with horror, knowing how sick she felt.) and with her coming in and out of reality. She was thinking more clearly than she had in days, maybe even since Willoughby had first abandoned her. All because of this odd action from Colonel Brandon. Finally, she was broken out of her reverie, feeling him move again. She turned her body slightly, her body growing sore from laying so still as to not alarm him. Her knees came too far forward, and they hit his back lightly, and she couldn't help but open her eyes then, the sun coming from her half-opened curtain blinding her momentarily. He took notice of this, raising a brow before standing and closing them, letting her eyes adjust to a duller light. Her fever was still there and her head pounded like someone was hitting just behind her left eye with a hammer, and she couldn't hold her eyes open as widely as she'd like from that pain, but still, she kept them opened, staring at him as he took his place again. They were alone, she realized, her door was propped open slightly, letting a small bit of light leak in from the other rooms. She heard Margaret laugh suddenly from down the stairs and she felt her heart constrict, wishing she could be down there laughing with her.
"Good morning." Said Colonel Brandon, acting casual and unalarmed.
"Colonel Brandon,"Her voice was gravelly from the lack of use, and she attempted to clear it, which helped hardly at all. He stood again, walking to the basin of water on her nightstand, and poured into a cup, handing it to her and waited for her to speak again. "You're here." She couldn't hide the shock, or the emotions she felt. Her sisters and mother had to be there with her, she knew. But to have him come back, for him to have spent time with her out of his own free will, despite all of the mistakes she'd made in the past days, after how she and Willoughby had treated him..she began wondering if he truly did care for her in the way that everyone, Mrs. Jennings and Sir John especially, had told her and teased her about. He looked down at her with an expression that looked a bit like pity, perhaps at her surprised tone. "Of course I am. I've been here a few times, but I doubt you'd remember. You were so ill the day before, and your mother told me you've only just begun to perk up late yesterday evening after my last visit."
"You've…you've been here?"
"Every day." She suddenly remembered catching bits and pieces of a conversation between Elinor and their mother about him riding all night to fetch Mrs. Dashwood when she first fell ill. "Honestly..I've hated to leave your side. You were so ill when I found you, I feared I had been too late." When I had found you? Had he been the one to find her? She remembered going for a walk, remembered the rain, of course, and she had been confused and wild when she woke up in a strange bed, only going back to sleep because of pure exhaustion, more like passing out rather than peaceful sleep, but she hadn't remembered his part in the story. But just then, a memory, a flash, came to her mind. A voice calling for her. "Marianne! Marianne!" He had called her by her Christian name, his deep, usually so calm and serene, voice called out to her and called out to her but she could not call back. Had he carried her all that way?
"You found me?"
"Y-yes, that night during the storm. You had been gone so long, we were all sick with worry. A storm came, and I ran out as soon as I could, and I found you lying there on the ground. You seemed to be awake, but I didn't expect for you to remember, you were so ill. When I got here with you..when I handed you over to the doctor..I feared so greatly for your life. I couldn't have been torn away until I knew you were okay."
"I remember now..you called out for me. I tried-I tried to answer but I couldn't seem..I couldn't seem to find my voice." Suddenly, that voice of hers failed again, sore from talking after being unused for so long. She took another sip of her water but started to feel nauseated from it, and she handed it to him before laying her head back down, resting further in her bed, the aches and chills returning.
"We'll discuss it more when you're able to get out of bed, Miss Marianne." He found his book, tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat, and turned slightly towards the door, and she found enough courage to reach out for him, barely able to graze his coat sleeve. "Thank you, Colonel. For saving me..and for being with me." The corner of his mouth raised briefly, and he nodded. "Thank you for staying alive." And with that, he left her, and her mother joined her within seconds. She jumped into conversation, asking her how she felt, if she was aching, if she was tired, and Marianne simply turned away, lost in her thoughts about a certain Colonel.