Is this what the gates of Hell feel like? Like head and chest congestion and swallowing a cheese grater? Like a kink in my back and waves of nausea hitting every few seconds? Like the strong desire to throw myself off the roof of this two story Victorian house? Because I might be there. I'm pretty sure this is Hell. Goddamn, I feel worse than I did last night. I thought I could sleep this shit off. I can't get sick right now. Besides, I need to go to wo…Oh, wait. That's right. I don't have one of those anymore. But still, I need to go out and find another one of those, so I can get my life back on track. Not that this detour hasn't been nice, but it's a fantasy. I need to wake up from this dream eventually.

Suddenly, I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. Dammit. One of the downsides of me being sick. I get weepy eyed. And it doesn't take much for me to get emotional while I'm sick. This shit sucks. And even worse, I have a feeling my roommate had a bloodhound's nose from hell for this kind of thing. I could hide it. As far as Oliver's going to be concerned, I'm not sick. I'm perfectly fine. But chances are, my voice will betray me. Yet, if I don't say anything, he's going to be concerned.

"Amelia?" Oliver came into my room, "Are you awake, love?"

"Yeah," I pushed through, "I'm up."

"How are you feeling?" he took a seat at the edge of my bed.

"Better," I lied through my teeth, "Turns out the sleep did what it was supposed to. And whatever it was you gave me last night. I'm golden."

"Are you sure?" Oliver could see through me. And I hated that he could see through me.

"Yeah," I kept my guard up. However, my voice decided to crack on me, "Totally."

"No," he took my hand, "I'm sorry, darling, but you're not. I can hear it in your voice. You're miserable, aren't you?"

"No," I shook my head. Oh, no…Bad idea. Pull yourself together, Amy. You're fine, remember? As far as Oliver knows anyway, "I'm fine."

"Are you positive?" Oliver tried coaxing the truth out of me, but I was a steel trap.

"Yep," I decided to prove it to him and pushed myself up and out of bed. However, I wasn't expecting my asshole legs to give out on me and turn to pudding. With my wobbly stance betraying me, I fell back onto the bed. Shit…

"Yes," he helped me back into bed, "I'm sure you're feeling so much better."

"Wow, Oliver," I gasped, "Rare sarcasm."

"You're not going anywhere," Oliver ignored my sidebar comment and finished tucking me back into bed. I will admit, I've never felt cozier than in this bed, "I'm going to go get a few things for you. I won't be gone long."

"Oliver," I tried sitting up, but it was to no avail, "You really don't have to…"

There was no sense in fighting him. Whether I wanted it or not, I was getting whatever it was he was running off to grab. I wasn't sure what that was, but right now, I didn't care. I didn't have that kind of energy in me. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I was in my own private hell and I felt like shit. Maybe resting this one out wouldn't be such a bad idea. Instead of worrying about it, I shut my eyes and fell back to sleep. Almost instantly. Damn, body. What's gotten into you? Why did you decide to betray me? What have I ever done to you? Granted, I haven't made some of the most ideal life choices, but still. Why am I like this? Alright, I can just go back to sleep and pretend like I wasn't really sick.

A few minutes later, I felt a cool washcloth go over my forehead. Ok. That's nice. That's not worth me waking up. In fact, it's weirdly soothing. Maybe I was really running the same fever from last night. This was downright pleasant. And if I wasn't mistaken, I had another blanket go over me. Alright. Maybe me being sick wouldn't be so bad. Especially if Oliver knew how to take care of me. I wasn't going to complain. Everything was fine. That is, until things took a turn. Quite literally. In my sleep, I felt Oliver roll me over onto my side. And the waistband of my pajama bottoms had been pulled away from my body. OH HELL NO.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" I woke right up before anything could happen.

"Amelia," Oliver scolded me, "What have I told you about using language like that?"

"I'm about to run a fucking tab to the swear jar!" I squealed, "What the fuck were you about to do?"

"How else am I supposed to check your fever?" he argued, "You were sleeping. The chances of you keeping a thermometer in your mouth were slim. I needed to find another way."

"Going in through the back door sure as fuck isn't the other way!" I rolled over to the other side of the bed and reached into my purse, pulling a ten out of my wallet, "You can find a different thermometer because putting one in my ass is NOT fucking happening!"

"I can chalk this up to the fever," Oliver excused my string of profanity. Especially when I dropped the ten in his hand, "Alright, Amelia. No means no. I understand. Now that you're awake, I'll go get a different thermometer."

"Damn right, you will!" Am I going to have to start sleeping on my back now? Because I've never been one to sleep on my back. My side? My stomach? Yeah. But sleeping on my back hurt too much. My god…No means no. I may need a different adult. I understand that he's just trying to take care of me, but he could've woke my ass up before he resorted to drastic measures. I don't care how sick I am and how much rest I need. That is a hard no for me.

"Amelia," Oliver came back in with a different thermometer. Thank God. Because I was fully prepared to suppress whatever the fuck might have happened, "Open your mouth."

"My pleasure," I shuddered, trying not to think about it anymore, and waited for the beeps to go off. Relax, Amy. It's done and over with. And you can go back to sleep on your back.

"That's not good," he cringed at the number, "You shouldn't be at a hundred and two. We'll find a way to break your fever in a little while. Get some rest, love. Ok?"

"Ok," I made sure to lay on my back. Whatever that shit was wouldn't happen again. And if it did, I hope he knows I can bite. Really hard. A hundred and two, huh? That really isn't good. It'll go down. I know it will. That wasn't exactly unusual when I was sick either. I'd get a fever spike and then, within the next hour or so, it'd break. My body was a medical anomaly and no one really knew why or how. It wasn't a hereditary thing. It was just a me thing. All I needed was a little more sleep and I'm sure I'd be ok.

Although, along with those weird fevers came the even weirder fever dreams. I wasn't quite sure where I was, but everything seemed so big. Then, I came to the realization that it wasn't that they were so big. It's that I was so small. I saw my mom and dad off in the distance, but the closer I got to them, the lesser they looked like my mom and dad. They looked familiar, but I couldn't place why. But my mom and dad came up behind me and took my hand, dragging me away from the other two. I reached out to them, fighting my mom and dad tooth and nail, screaming, "No! Don't let them take me away! Don't let them take me away! Please! Don't let them take me away!"

"Amelia," I felt Oliver's arms around me as I snapped out of my horrible nightmare, "It's alright, darling. It's alright. I won't let anyone take you. You're right here. Everything is ok."

"Oliver…" I felt tears bubbling up in the back of my throat again. Right now, all I wanted was some sort of comfort. And fortunately, I had someone who cared right here, "How much did you hear?"

"I heard you shouting from downstairs," he held me against his chest, "You started thrashing around in your sleep. For a moment, I thought your fever got higher and you were having a seizure. But then, you woke up and here we are."

"That was awful," I tried shaking it, but that shit was sticking with me. If I could get my breathing to even out and my shaking to stop, I'll be fine.

"I'm sure it was," Oliver ran his fingers down the back of my arm, "But everything's ok. I promise. Why don't you come with me? We need to get your fever down and I've drawn a bath for you."

"Ok," I needed something to mellow my ass out. And where better to do that than Oliver's bathtub? It wouldn't be the first time and I knew damn well that tub had magical powers. It's witchcraft. It had to be. But a little time in Oliver's bathtub wouldn't hurt.

However, I didn't expect him to stick around to help me. My energy may have been nonexistent, but that didn't mean I was totally invalid. Still, it was nice of him to practically bathe me. He didn't have to do that. But given my recent nightmare, I didn't want to be alone. Fortunately, I wouldn't be in there for very long. By the time Oliver had me dried off and in clean pajamas, I was already back in bed and damn near back to sleep. As much as I wanted to, I think I could hold off on sleep until my fever breaks.

"Amelia," Oliver tucked me back into bed, "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten since we had lunch yesterday and your medicine will work better if you eat."

"I am kind of hungry," I nodded.

"I know," he kissed my forehead, "I'll go make you some soup. It won't take me long. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone."

"Ok," I nestled back down in bed. Alright. This whole sick thing sucks. That still hasn't changed. But I'm glad I had Oliver here. There's no way in hell that Reid would've ever done anything like this for me. He would've told me to suck it up and move on with my day. But I didn't have to worry about that. I just had to get better. That's it. But some soup would hit the fucking spot right now.

Because Oliver had me on strict bed rest, the sweetheart came up to my room with a bowl of hot chicken and rice soup in almost no time flat. For the first time all day, the smell of food didn't make me nauseous. In fact, I'd be more than happy to destroy that bowl of soup and I had all intentions of doing so. It'd be really nice if I could handle spicy foods right now. A couple shakes of hot sauce in that would soothe the soul, but chances are, throwing that back up would not be pretty for anyone involved.

"Thank you, Oliver," I sat up in bed, fully prepared to put something in my stomach.

"You're welcome," Oliver joined me at my bedside, yet again with a spoon in hand.

"If it's cool with you," I requested, wondering why the hell he wasn't letting me have my spoon, "I'd like to eat now."

"That's good to hear," he loaded up the spoon, "Open your mouth."

"I will," I assured, reaching for my bowl, "As soon as I get my spoon."

"Amelia," Oliver insisted, "You need to be reserving your strength, so you can get better. If you're hungry, then let me help you."

"Hold on," I thought this over. My fever may be fucking with my head, but I needed to know, "Are you saying you…want to feed me?"

"I wish you were feeling well enough to feed yourself, love," he pushed my hair out of my face, "But if this is the way it has to be, then so be it."

"I can still feed myself," I promised, still trying to get my spoon. To no avail.

"Amelia," Oliver took a spoonful of soup for me, "I'm not going to ask you again. Please let me do this for you."

Because fuck my pride or my dignity, right? I almost already had a thermometer up my ass today. But I was hungry. And he did want to help, "Fine…"

"Thank you," he fed me my first bit of soup. Goddamn, that was good. Yet again, a case of Oliver Kirkland's cooking never disappointing me, "See? Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Next thing you know, I'll be able to take your temperature while you're asleep."

"Not even as a joke." Sick fucking joke, too…Yikes…

"I understand," Oliver dropped it, continuing to feed me, "After you're done eating, I want you to get some more rest, ok? When you wake up again, I'll see if your fever's broken."

"And you'll make sure I'm awake, right?" I glared a hole through him.

"No need for the dirty looks, darling," he promised, "I'll make sure you're awake. I've already put the Vasoline away."

Well, at least he was going to make it easy on me, "Thank you."

"And when you wake up again," Oliver rounded up the last spoonful in the bowl, "I have a little surprise for you. I was hoping I'd be able to show it to you when you weren't brutally sick, but I'm sure it'll help make you feel better."

"A girl can hope," I finished my soup, sad to see it go. I'm sure if I asked him nicely, Oliver would bring me another bowl, but he'd probably feed me some line of bullshit like how I didn't need any more or it'll be too much for me to handle. And he's probably right. Instead, I sunk back down into my bed and shut my eyes for a little while longer.

I had to admit, though, the day off was nice. After having worked at the café for so long and having to deal with Reid for the last few years, I forgot what it was like to relax. Even when I'd have my days off or I'd go on vacation, I still couldn't fully unclench. For the first time in years, I had nothing to worry about. My brain had successfully turned off. Everything was good. Hell, I had a roommate that didn't cause me much for problems. New friends that I adored more than life itself. Life was good.

A little while later, I woke up to a soft humming in the corner chair. I looked over and saw Oliver just about to cast off his project, "There. All done."

"It looks nice, Oliver," I shoved my fist in my eye, still a little out of it.

"You think so?" Oliver held what looked like a baby's blanket quadrupled in size, "I like it, too. Did you have a good nap?"

"Yeah," I sat up, feeling a hell of a lot better than what I did this morning. Just as I thought, exhaustion probably caught up to me, "I'm not quite up to running a marathon yet, but I'm getting there."

"That's wonderful," he got up from my chair and offered me his hand, "Come here. I'd like to show you something."

"Ok," I could actually walk and not feel like the world was giving out under me, so I'll call that a win, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Oliver assured, "Amelia, how long have you been living here?"

"I'd say…" I thought it over, "Probably a month or so. Maybe a month and a half? Why?"

"Would it be safe to say you're here on a more permanent basis?"

"Well," I pointed out, "I do come here after work. And after class. And when I go out places, this is usually where I come back to, so yeah. I could say I've moved in."

"And yet," Oliver went on, bringing me to his bedroom, "You're still staying in my guest room."

"Yeah," I nodded, "Because even though I've moved in, it's still a temporary thing."

"But who knows when you're going to find another job?" he wondered, "Or when you'll be able to find a new apartment? Wouldn't you want something that felt a bit more permanent? Like it's yours?"

"Um…" I gave him a look, "Where are you going with this, Oliver?"

"Just…" Oliver took me to one of the mysterious doors in his room. Pretty sure it's a closet, "Open this door."

"Ok…" When I opened the door, it looked like Oliver might have been expecting. But last time I checked, he can't carry a baby. Maybe he was adopting and this was how he was going to break the news to me. Because this looked like a baby's nursery. That would explain his latest knitting project. The blanket was for her. That's understandable. And now, I know why I smelled wet paint. Because the fresh coat of a pastel pink covered the walls. It played off nicely with the white bed and the white glider in the corner and the various shades of pink flowers covering the wall. I feel like I've seen something like that before with Instagram models.

"Well?" he asked, waiting with bated breath to hear my answer, "What do you think?"

"It's really cute in here, Oliver," I took a good look around, "You did a nice job."

"Thank you," Oliver brought me over to the bed, "I'm glad you like it. Because it's yours."

Bitch, what? "Oliver…"

"I know it may be a bit much," he explained, putting me back into bed, "But in time, I'm sure you'll get used to it. But please, Amelia, get some more rest. While I'm thinking of it…"

Oliver went into a set of drawers and pulled out a bottle of pink liquid and a measuring spoon, "What are you thinking of?"

"You're due for another round of medicine," he carefully measured it out, "I'm sorry we've run out of the tablets. This should be much easier to take anyway."

"And what is it?" I asked.

"It's cold medicine," Oliver assured, "It's not like I'd give you poison, Amelia. Honestly, where is your head these days?"

"Sorry," I swallowed the most horrendous artificial bubblegum flavor I've ever had the displeasure of putting in my mouth, hacking on it a little, "I guess it's the whole being sick thing screwing with my head some more."

"That's probably it," he pulled the quilt over me and raised the barrier a little on the edge of the bed, "Get some sleep, sweetheart. Hopefully, you'll feel better in the morning."

"Hey, Oliver?" I stopped him before he could leave.

"What is it, darling?" Oliver stood in the doorway, "Is everything alright?"

"Thank you," I smiled a little, "For taking care of me today. My own mother wouldn't even have taken this good of care of me. I appreciate it."

"I was afraid you'd say that…" he mumbled to himself, quickly smiling back, "But never mind that. Get some sleep, Amelia."

"I will," I had no doubt in my mind that medicine he gave me would knock my ass out anyway. So, maybe if I just shut my eyes…But then, I felt a buzzing on my thigh. That's right. I put my phone in my pocket earlier when I got up to go to the bathroom in case I needed to tell someone I fell and hit my head on the toilet. I can put it on the charger in the morning. Besides, it still had a pretty strong battery. I wasn't expecting a text, yet here I was.

Allen:

What were you up to tonight?

I missed you.

You:

I've been sick and miserable all day.

But I'll be fine.

Just a bad cold.

Good night, Allen.

I put my phone on the nightstand through the bar and shut my eyes. This whole being sick thing has kicked my ass more than I thought it would, but it's been nice to take a minute. Maybe I needed to get sick. Just so I could bring balance back to my life. Where better place to start than rock bottom?