"I've got you." Dr. Reddington said reassuringly as he carried Liz over to the comfortable sofa and laid her down, tucking a throw pillow under her head for support, then pulled the blanket over her as well.

He quickly shed his snow-covered coat, shoes, gloves and scarf and carried it all back into the corridor so that his clothes wouldn't wet the floor even more than they already had.

He also picked up his doctor's bag which he had carelessly dropped in front of the door when he'd caught her.

He closed the door and went back into the living room to kneel beside her.

Liz lay on the sofa still and motionless, her eyes shut. She looked sick, her face pale and damp.

Raymond was staring at the rich auburn curls streaming around her flushed face.

"Miss Keen, can you hear me?"

Getting no response, he touched her cheek, then laid the back of his hand on her forehead. Good lord, she was literally burning with fever.

He gently smoothed her hair, trying to rouse her from her boneless sprawl.

"Hello, Miss Keen?"

A long, shaky shiver raced through her and her lashes fluttered as she whimpered, kitten soft.

Raymond was hit by a protective instinct so strong it overwhelmed common sense.

He stilled when her eyes opened. Astonishing blue eyes, hazed with fever and confusion, desperately trying to focus.

"Don't be afraid. I'm Dr. Raymond Reddington and I'm here to help you."

The sound of his voice brought her gaze directly to his and he watched, strangely fascinated as a small smile shaped her mouth.

"That's good," she murmured. "I don't feel well."

Raymond caught his breath. The look she gave him turned him inside out as he experienced a stunning sense of familiarity, of knowing this woman in a way that bypassed the conscious mind.

Then she looked away and it was gone, leaving him baffled by what he'd felt. Irritable he shook off the moment, assigning it to imagination, though his arms were goose flushed.

Get a grip, doctor. He scolded himself. She's your patient and you better start treating her instead of looking at her like a stupid fool.

Liz sighed heavily, closed her eyes again and snuggled into her pillow for comfort.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she murmured. "I feel so dizzy."

"It's the fever," he told her, rose and entered the adjoining kitchen. He opened a few cabinets, pulled out a glass and filled it with water, then brought it to her.

"You must drink as much as you can," he said. "You're severely dehydrated."

He slipped an arm behind her and held her up a little to help her drink. Her throat was bothering her; he could tell by the way she grimaced when she swallowed.

"You probably shouldn't have touched me, doctor. I'm highly contagious."

"Don't worry. I had the chicken pox when I was 5 years old," he chuckled at the memory. "Drove my mother nuts because I used my illness as an excuse to live on cookies and chocolate ice cream for an entire week."

Raymond cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing at his lips. Liz returned his smile with another strikingly beautiful smile of her own despite her misery.

He gave her a tender look.

"Does that sound like a plan to you?"

"Oh no, not really, I love real food far too much." She sighed languidly. "But right now, I have no appetite whatsoever."

"When did you start feeling ill?"

"It started two days ago with a sore throat and a headache. I've had a fever since this morning; thought it was the flu."

Raymond bent and unsnapped the clasps on his doctor's bag and opened it while he listened to her.

"When I saw the spots, I knew what was wrong."

She took another sip and continued.

"I'm a school bus driver. There were cases of chicken pox among the children for the past weeks."

He nodded and inserted a thermometer into her mouth to take her temperature.

Gently, he reached for her right hand to check her pulse when the deep scar on her wrist, clearly from a burn, startled him.

He looked at her questioningly and watched as sadness filled her eyes. She quickly blinked it away and gave him a polite smile.

Looking back down, the scarlet mark taunted him. It looked angry, painful. He reached out without thinking, smoothing the tip of his fingers over the spot.

"Does it hurt?"

He felt her breath catch, and from the corner of his eye he could see her head shake.

He traced his finger around the bumpy skin and over it. The flesh beneath was noticeably hotter than the surrounding ivory skin.

Suddenly he wished his touch could make it all better, erase it altogether, the painful memories on how she got it included.

There were a million questions swirling through his mind, but he knew they'd have to wait. First, he had to help her.

He swallowed slowly, carefully, remembering once again his real duty.

He shifted his fingers, sliding them directly over her pulse point as he started to count, giving her a tentative compassionate smile in return.

Long seconds ticked by until he released her wrist and pulled the thermometer from between her lips.

"Your pulse is fine, but you're running a fever of a hundred and four."

His forehead creased with concern.

"Oh no …" she exclaimed weakly.

He took out his stethoscope and hung it around his neck.

"You're not pregnant, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not."

"Good. Let's take a look at your throat then. Please stick out your tongue and say, aaah."

Liz did as asked, and with a small penlight he looked into her throat, pushing down her tongue with a depressor.

"Your throat is definitely inflamed. It appears to be strep throat."

He felt her neck and behind her ears.

"Your glands are swollen."

He soothingly patted her arms when she coughed.

"I can't test a throat swab to be sure, but treating for strep would be my choice, even if I had lab facilities. I have several kinds of antibiotics in my bag. I'll give you a shot with a loading dose and then you can take the pills for a few days."

He gave her a serious look.

"Are you allergic to any medicines, Miss Keen?"

Liz muttered "no, not that I know of" was barely audible.

He reached for the stethoscope around his neck.

"I'd like to listen to you, could you please sit up for me?"

Raymond fumbled the buds into his ears, concentrating as he tried to warm the round end against his palm.

"I'm wearing no bra."

"You have nothing I haven't seen before," he said, smiling with encouragement.

"Right," she whispered, pushing aside her shyness.

Respecting her modesty, he slid her shirt up her back just a little so he could move the stethoscope and listen at specific points to her breath sounds.

The lungs were clear, but her bronchial tubes were congested, which meant that a chest infection was brewing.

He also asserted that the extent of the spots covering her upper body were more than usual and if it continued to spread this rapidly she would be coated everywhere soon.

He finished the examination, put the stethoscope away, then pulled her shirt back down, and easing her down slowly.

He looked at her seriously with concern in his eyes.

"You're quite covered with spots already. Unfortunately, I'm afraid it'll get a lot worse."

"I know I can't scratch, but I want to so badly."

"I'll prescribe an antihistamine, it'll help with the itching. Also, I suggest you take Tylenol for the fever and calamine lotion for the spots. Do you have any of these two in your medicine chest?"

"Tylenol, yes."

"Good, I'll get the other medicine for you then. On my way here, I saw a pharmacy located within the small strip mall one block away."

She looked into his eyes.

"You can't go back out there. All the snow… it's too dangerous."

"It's a short walk; only take a few minutes."

"But …"

"No but, Miss Keen. You need the medicine and you can't go yourself, so I'll do it for you."

His words didn't tolerate any objections; he knew nothing could change his mind. All he knew was that he had this unusual urge to help her and he would.

"I'll prepare the antibiotic shot now, then give you Tylenol before I leave. Just try to rest, will you?"

She nodded. "Thank you," she said softly, "for being here for me."

There it was again.

He swallowed hard against the shiver that run the length of his spine. He had no idea why her vulnerability affected him so much, what it was about her that got under his skin. He suddenly felt a deep urge to protect her.

"Don't thank me. It's my duty to help all my patients."

He knew with her it went beyond duty, but he couldn't admit that.

She watched him remove the cap from the syringe, break off the tip of the glass ampule and slide the needle inside to draw the antibiotic into the syringe.

He swabbed the skin of Liz's right arm with alcohol, then the needle pierced her skin and she closed her eyes briefly, suppressing a moan, as he emptied the syringe and withdrew the needle.

He covered the small puncture wound with a band-aid.

"The Tylenol is in the bathroom upstairs," she told him. "In the medicine cabinet."

"I'll get it."

He put his equipment back into his doctor's bag and closed it, then got up and left the living room.

He came back quickly, dropping two pills into her hand.

"Take these, then try to rest. I'll be back soon."

"Take my keys from the commode in the corridor and let yourself in when you come back."

"Okay."

"Please be careful, doctor," she called after him when he proceeded to step into his shoes and coat before left the house.

Raymond trudged through the knee-high snow. It was still snowing quite heavily, and the storm howled and moaned ferociously, whirling the snow that was already down back up, cutting visibility almost to zero.

The wind-driven snow seemed to beat against him from all directions and stung his eyes. He sunk deep into his coat and walk on with dogged determination.

The pharmacy was the closest store in the mall and he sighed with relief as its lighted windows assured him that it had not closed due to the storm.

He gave the pharmacist the prescription and requested calamine lotion. After a few moments the pharmacist came back, handing him a small bag with the requested medicine and Raymond paid for his purchase.

The supermarket he passed on his way out was empty and about to close, so he slipped in quickly, took a cart and hurried around.

He took cookies, waffles, ice cream, bread, pasta, several cans of soup, milk, eggs, bananas, a box of herbal tea bags and instant oatmeal. Food they both could survive on for a few days if necessary.

He paid at the check-out and filled the groceries into another bag.

The music blaring through the supermarket was suddenly interrupted by weather news and weather warnings. By now the entire city was shut down, people were advised to not leave their homes.

Gripping the bags tightly, he left the mall.

The way back to Miss Keen's house was exhausting. He felt the cold seeping into his bones, he shivered in his wet clothes, his teeth chattering.

He saw that his car was almost completely buried in snow. The city trucks had long quit plowing and the streets and sidewalks were abandoned to the storm. He was the only one brave out here … or stupid one, depending on how you looked at it.

Then he remembered his duffel bag with his sports clothes for the gym in the trunk of his Mercedes. The prospect of a dry t-shirt, sweatpants, fresh underwear and socks were peculiarly encouraging and in a final exertion, he dug the trunk compartment free and retrieved his bag.

He found her curled up on the couch in the same abject misery as he left her, although he didn't look much better than her in his current state.

"Are you alright?" she slurred, her eyes fluttered open. "It sounds like the world is coming to an end outside."

He kneeled down beside her. "I'm fine."

She tentatively touched her hand to his face, her fingers warming his cheek.

"You look frozen," Liz observed. "And like a wet dog."

Her eyes lit up in shy amusement.

"I just walked through a blizzard!" He laughed with her, but then grew serious.

"All public life stands still. Everything has shut down. Roads are closed. Public transportation suspended their service."

All playfulness was gone from his voice, and when she glanced at his face his eyes were dark, intense, a muscle working in his jaw.

Slowly, she slid her fingers from his face, and he suddenly missed the warm touch of her hand on his cold skin.

"The storm may rage for a long time."

"Does that mean you can't leave?"

Their eyes locked, longer than was appropriate, before he answered.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me - through this storm."

TBC