Annie woke with a start, at the sound of a distant car honking its horn on the street, opening her eyes to find her face resting against his velvet, ginger, down covered chest.

She blinked rapidly, immediately alerted to the fact that something was different.

His breathing.

There was no tortured rattle of indrawn, or expelled breath.

And for an instant, her heart missed a beat, fearing the worst...

But then, she realized that his chest was indeed rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm, and he was warm to the touch.

She withdrew from him slowly, feeling muscles in her neck and shoulders protest after a night spent on the floor, in an awkward position.

Her back ached too, probably from dragging him in out of the rain last night.

And her head felt as though it were stuffed with cotton wool.

I need a drink ...

Yes ...

Coffee.

Good and strong and black!

She pulled a face at the thought, that not being the way she would normally take that particular beverage, but knowing that it was the only thing that would get her started.

She yawned, and stretched carefully, trying to ease the ache in her protesting muscles, noting the slight tremor in her hand as she reached out for a robe.

She rose stiffly, then carefully rearranged the covers over her patient, her gentle fingers reaching up to touch his rough, whiskered cheek gently, before laying the flat back of her hand against his still perspiration dewed brow.

He was still very warm.

The fever had not yet broken.

But at least he was quiet.

Calm.

Holding him had obviously been the best thing to do.

She went directly to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of strong black coffee, and whilst that was perking, she went to her closet and quietly selected a warm, tartan skirt and red and white sweater, then headed for the small bathroom, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

All in all, it had been a relatively quiet night.

He had woken only once, after the nightmares induced by the fever had initially disturbed her, and she had forced a little water down his throat, cradling his head as he gulped the cool liquid down greedily, although, she had only allowed him a few sips to begin with.

She had also applied another cold, damp, washcloth to his brow for a few minutes, then had cuddled up close to him again, drawing the blankets securely over them both, and had finally drifted back to sleep in the early hours.

After a shower, and dressing quickly in the cramped, freezing bathroom, Annie went back to the kitchenette and poured out coffee for herself, again noting that the tremor in her hand was a little more pronounced, using the pungent, dark brew to swill down two aspirins.

Her head was pounding, her joints aching, her stomach making strange, rumbling noises, adding to her queasiness.

This, she recalled, was one of the reasons why she had stopped trying to get truly sober.

A little nip, first thing in the morning helped to take away the pain, blot out the memories.

This morning she would have to make do with another cup of coffee.

You promised, remember?

Yeah, yeah ...

A loud crashing noise from the other room, brought her running, to find him sprawled on his belly, arms and legs akimbo, her vanity unit tipped on its side where he had knocked it flying.

Obviously he had tried to get up, his legs had been too weak to hold him upright, and he had crashed to the floor.

"What the ... damnation! Where'd'ya think you're going?" Annie exclaimed, hands on hips, regarding him with disbelief, as he clawed at the carpet.

"Danger ... run ... Catherine ... run ..." He mumbled.

"Hey, hey, calm down. Calm down!" She squatted down beside him, and looked into those wide blue eyes, that were suddenly brimming with tears, still fever bright, but there was a spark of something else there too.

Fear.

"Now look, chum, Catherine isn't here. Just me. Annie, and there's no danger here. Just help. You're safe. Safe," she reassured softly. "C'mon, let me help you ..."

She reached out to him, trying to persuade him to move under his own steam, if he could, because she didn't have the strength to move him on her own.

"C'mon now, please. You'll never get well at this rate ..." She chastised lightly. "Lean on me, there, that's right," she encouraged, as he staggered to his feet and leaned his full weight against her, almost knocking her over.

"Whoa! Steady! There now, that's fine ..."

She looked up into his face, and thought there was suddenly a spark of comprehension in those beautiful azure eyes.

They moved slowly back to the rumpled make shift bed on the floor, where he crumpled in an undignified heap once more, with a soft moan, breathing hard from the effort.

Annie covered him quickly with the thin blanket, and then meticulously checked his injuries, her concern that in falling, he had done still more damage to his shoulder, but found that the wound had not been bleeding again since she had last checked the dressing, indeed, all the wounds seemed to be healing nicely, and much more quickly than he had any right to hope for.

Obviously he was recovering.

And Annie was glad.

More pleased than she really should be about this stranger.

And obviously, she was going to have to watch him more closely.

Or else he might wreck the apartment.

And do more damage to him self in the process.

Bringing her coffee in from the kitchenette, Annie sat cross legged on the bed, cradling the fat brown mug between her hands, watching him.

His face was relaxed in repose now, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed, no sign of pain pinching his unique features.

He looked younger, she suddenly realized.

And as she sat watching him sleep, she began to wonder what she would do with him once he began to regain his strength.

Obviously, he would want to go home.

Butwhere did such a being as he live?

How did he live?

He was obviously well nourished and well clothed, albeit that weird mismatch of much mended homespun.

It was a puzzle indeed.

She had originally thought it strange to hear him call out for a woman, but now she realised that he must have family, friends, someone such as he would need shelter, support, protection, just to survive from day to day.

Yes.

A puzzle indeed.

And it was undoubtedly a secret.

And what a whopper!

He was a secret.

Well, he need not worry.

Anything he told her, knowingly or under delirium, would stay between them, these four walls ...

She knew all about keeping confidences.

Yes, his secret would be safe with her.