Nate rubbed his neck, and gave her a gentle half-smile. Mitchie simply stared at him, eyes wide and brows raised, questioningly.

"See, Mitchie, um. I was in the studio and uh, see, I just…" Nate trailed off, his cheeks burning. Mitchie stared at him in disbelief. The boy who had written hit single after hit single couldn't explain himself. Definitely a first. Nate opened his mouth to explain again.

"Wait." Mitchie spoke up, her voice raspy and cracking, "How did you know I was here?" She stood up, and her body trembled.

Nate took in her flushed face, red eyes and violent trembling. He stood up from the couch, and led her back to sit down. "Mitchie. You're sick."

"I'm fine." Mitchie's eyes flashed at him. She leaned against the couch, and sighed heavily. "I'm just fine, Nate. So you can leave now."

"Nuh-uh. Sorry, not happening. I can take you home, or I can take you to the hospital. You can take your pick." Nate leaned against the door of the studio, and grinned at her. "So, princess, what'll it be?"

"Nate..." Mitchie groaned, and buried her head in her hands.

"No, Mitchie. You are not staying here another night. Pick, or I'll pick for you." Nate's voice dropped to a stage whisper, "And if I have to pick, it'll probably be the hospital. You look like you could fall over any minute."

"Home." Mitchie glared at him for a moment, and stumbled towards the door. She sighed loudly. "Nate, you have to move."

"Mitchie. " Nate looked her in the eyes, and accepted the look of hopelessness. Mitchie huffed angrily. Nate suddenly swept her off her feet and carried her bridal style out of the building.

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5," Nate counted under his breath, walking through the doorway and into the elevator. Seconds later, Mitchie began squirming in his arms. He tightened his hold.

"I'm too heavy! Put me down, or..." Mitchie trailed off, a murderous look in her eyes. Nate chuckled, but stepped out of the elevator, and through the automatic doors into the parking lot. He unlocked his car and set Mitchie down. He opened the car door, and waited for her to climb in.

"Why can't I take my car?" Mitchie sat down in the seat, trembling visibly.

"Because any officer in his right mind would assume you're drunk right now." Nate shut her door, and went around to the driver's side.

Nate shut off the car engine in front of the huge house. He turned to look at Mitchie, and smiled to see her already half asleep. He opened her door and gathered her into his arms, tightening them as her eyelids fluttered. He pushed open the front door, and set Mitchie down on the nearest sofa. He covered her with a nearby throw blanket, and Mitchie huddled close in its warmth. Nate rested his hand on Mitchie's forehead and his eyes widened at the heat.

Five minutes later, Nate gently shook Mitchie's shoulder. She lazily opened her eyes, and Nate helped her sit up. He handed her a glass of water and two white pills. She swallowed them down quickly, and quickly lay down again.

"Mitchie? Mitchie? Hey, babe?" Nate called Mitchie's name softly hours later, failing to win her attention. Sighing, he picked up his cellphone. "Hey, Mom? I need your help."