Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before Charlotte knew it, she and Skittery had been married for almost a year.
Charlotte lay in bed early one morning watching the rising sun filter through the window and brighten up all the corners of the room.
Slowly, her eyes drifted over to a sleeping Skittery, who was lying stomach down and had his arms hidden under his pillow.
A stubborn piece of dark brown hair hung over his forehead.
Charlotte leaned over and lovingly pushed it aside, and her hands lightly touched his forehead.
To her surprise, his forehead was burning up.
"Skitts," she said, tugging his arm. "Wake up!"
He slowly opened his eyes and yawned.
"What…? What is it?" he asked, slowly drawing out each word.
"You've got a fever. You're burning up!"
He reached up and touched his forehead. "You're right. I do feel hot."
Charlotte pushed off her covers and climbed out of bed. "I'll be right back."
She returned minutes later with a damp washcloth and placed it gently on his burning forehead.
"How's that?" she asked soothingly.
"Better," he replied.
"Will you be alright by yourself for a few minutes?"
Skittery gave her a look. "Charlotte, honey, I'm fine."
Charlotte sighed. "I know, you probably are. It's probably a cold or something. But I just want to make sure."
She walked briskly over to their closet and pulled out some clothes. She hastily put them on, and returned to the bed.
"I'll be back in fifteen minutes at the most."
Charlotte leaned over and kissed him goodbye.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She quickly exited the apartment, jogged down the stairs and out into the busy street.
"Come on," she murmured to herself, attracting puzzled glances from other pedestrians. "There's gotta be a newsie out here somewhere."
Slowly but surely, a voice could b heard above the crowd.
"Extra! Extra! Three bodies found dead in river!"
A mass of people surrounded the tall boy and Charlotte had to fight her way through the crowd to get to him.
"Blink!" she cried happily, glad to see such a friendly face.
He glanced up and realized who was standing in front of him.
"Hey Charlotte! I haven't seen you in ages!" he said, reaching up and wiping the sweat from his forehead that was collecting under his sun kissed blonde hair.
"I know, I know. Things have been kinda busy."
"Yah, things have been busy for me too with Martini and all."
Charlotte nodded her head, understanding his position. She knew how relationships could be time consuming.
"I was really wondering if you could do me a favor."
"Sure!" he replied, eager to help out his friend's wife. "What can I do?"
"Well, Skittery's feeling under the weather and I need someone to fetch the doctor. Could you do that for me?"
"Yep, I can."
"Thanks so much Blink. Tell the doctor it's an emergency."
He nodded and ran off into the crowded, busy street.
Charlotte turned on her heel and jogged back up to her and Skittery's apartment. She hurried back to Skittery's side.
"That was fast," he exclaimed.
"Yah, I know. I found Blink and he's gonna get the doctor."
He nodded with comprehension, then closed his big, brown eyes and laid his head back down on the pillow.
Charlotte plopped down into a white rocking hair next to him, and picked up her knitting in an attempt to get her mind off everything. It failed, as she kept dropping stitches, and the stitches she did do were sloppy.
Discouraged, she gave a heavy sigh and put her knitting needles down.
Her eyes roamed the room, trying to find something else to keep her busy, but she came up empty handed.
Instead, she began humming that oh so familiar tune she and Skittery had danced to what it had seemed like ages ago.
The door suddenly swung open and a disheveled looking Blink and the good doctor stepped into the cozy apartment.
"Ma'am," the doctor said, acknowledging Charlotte. "Now what seems to be the problem?"
"Well, I'm not exactly sure how severe the problem is. Skittery… Jacob… my husband, has a fever," she said, gesturing towards the bed where Skittery lay.
The doctor rolled up his sleeves and walked over to the bed.
"Now let's see what we can do."
He pushed and prodded Skittery for several minutes before he began asking questions.
"How long have you been feeling ill, Joseph?"
Skittery was silent for a moment. "What exactly is your definition of ill?"
"The doctor carefully worded his response. "I believe the correct definition would be not healthy, sick. Not up to standards; something causing suffering…"
Skittery held up his hand. "Okay, okay. I get it. Honestly, I haven't been feeling like myself for a long time."
"Really?" the doctor asked questionably.
Skittery nodded.
"Have you been feeling any other symptoms? Like being weak, having a bad appetite, morning and night sweating, or weight loss?"
"Now that you mention it, I have lost some weigh. I just never thought much about it. My appetite has been less than usual, and I have been feeling weak."