Christian watched Alyse onstage the next afternoon. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before--he'd been too busy beating himself up over kissing her to worry about resting. After attacking the situation from all angles, he'd decided that the only thing he could do was try to forget what happened, and hope that Alyse could do the same. He refused to risk their friendship for fickle romance. Love never lasted, but friendship did. All it had been was two lonely people accidentally dropping their guards and making a mistake, nothing more.

Rubbing his forehead, Christian stubbed out his most recent cigarette. He'd been smoking all day, barely getting a few drags off of each one before it burnt down to nothing. He was too easily distracted today, and that wasn't smart, because he needed to be paying attention to the stage. The dress rehearsal was almost over, and had been going remarkably well. It seemed that some of the cast had actually studied their lines. Jerome was showing marked improvement, which Zidler was only too happy to point out to Christian over and over again. Aside from a few minor fumbles with dance routines and miscues, it seemed that the cast had things together.

Alyse's performance was the highlight of it all. Her lines were delivered on time, her singing pitch perfect. She seemed to have some problems with the dancing, but all in all, Zidler couldn't say enough good things about her. Christian nodded and agreed with everything the man said, because there was no sense in disagreeing, and besides, he was right. They'd lucked out the day Alyse had walked into the theatre to audition. She had that rare star quality.

When this production succeeds, you will no longer be a cancan dancer, but an actress. I will make you…a star…

He closed his eyes momentarily. Would the bad memories never go away? Christian forced his mind to concentrate on the scene before him--Julia and Pierre declaring their love in a fairy-tale finale. Real life so seldom played out that way, he thought, and focused on the actors.

***

Alyse was so excited that she couldn't stop shaking as Marie helped her out of her costume. "You were splendid, girl, you truly were!" Marie said, squeezing Alyse's shoulder as she pulled an arm out of a sleeve.

"Really, Marie?" she asked, turning her head to look at the older woman.

"Really," Marie smiled, her skilled fingers making quick work of the laces that held Alyse tightly in place. "I haven't seen such talent since…" The woman trailed off for a moment, then finished, "Since Satine graced our stage."

"Oh, Marie…" Alyse turned to the woman and took her hands. "You can't mean that."

Marie blinked, then wiped one of her eyes. "I do," she said firmly. "She was a shining star, and so are you. Except you're young and healthy, and there's nothing that can stand in your way. None of us will allow it. Come now, let's get you out of this mess…" She turned Alyse back around and finished untying the laces. Soon Alyse was ready to leave the theatre, tired but satisfied. Even she had to admit that it had gone much better than expected today. And she hadn't had much time to think about the previous night's events, which had been a relief. She wondered what she would say to Christian when she saw him--

She was wrapped in her thoughts as she walked out of the building and nearly collided with Christian, who was standing outside, lighting a cigarette. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and he reached out a hand to steady her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. "I was blocking the path."

"No, it's all right…" she replied, acutely aware of his hand on her arm. She looked up at him, searching his eyes, wondering how he wanted to handle this…situation they'd gotten themselves into. Should they talk about it? Or just ignore it? She'd prayed all night that they'd be able to get past it. While she knew she cared about him, and he for her, she knew nothing could come of it. And more than anything, she valued Christian's friendship. He'd helped her through so much. She couldn't bear to lose him over one mistake.

They stared at each other, and she saw it in his eyes--an unspoken plea to forget, to move past what had happened. She wondered if he even knew that she could read his thoughts. No matter--if that was what he wanted, that was what she would do. Alyse took a deep breath and smiled at him. "What did you think today?"

Christian dropped his hand from her arm as relief flooded through him. It's going to be okay, he thought, and blew smoke into the air before he answered. They started walking back to their building. "It was better than I had hoped, to be honest," he said. "I'd figured most everyone would be unprepared, but I was pleasantly surprised…"

The rest of the evening was spent discussing the rehearsal. It was a safe topic, nothing too personal. Even though they were both trying to ignore what had happened, there was a new layer of tension under every word, every glance. She wondered how long it would take for it to go away--if it ever could.

***

A few days later, Alyse pulled her weary body up the steps to her room. She'd been achy and tired all day; she'd written it off as fatigue, from working so hard at the theatre and not getting enough sleep. As the day had progressed, however, she'd started feeling worse--her head had become congested, she'd begun coughing, and whatever energy she'd had earlier had completely disappeared. By midday she was having chills, which she'd tried to hide. She knew she was needed for rehearsals and so she fought her way through the haze that was building in her head. By the time she left the theatre, all she wanted was to climb into her bed and sleep for weeks. But first she had to manage these stairs…

Christian glanced up at a harsh cough from the hallway. It took a moment for the owner to step into view, and he was surprised to see Alyse stop at her doorway, overcome by a fit of choking. His heart was immediately in his throat, and he scrambled up from his chair, hurrying to her side and slipping an arm around her slight figure. "Alyse, are you all right?" he asked her, concern lacing his voice.

Alyse shook her head as she tried to quiet her coughs, and all Christian could think was, dear God, not again, not her…Finally, she stopped and looked up at him. Relief cut a sharp line through him as he scanned her pale face and saw no blood on her lips. "Not feeling well," she whispered, her voice weak. As he took her key out of her hand, he could feel tremors running through her body. He opened her door and ushered her inside, pulling off her coat. "Tell me," he said, urging her to sit on the bed and then joining her.

She related her symptoms, and as she ticked each one off, he realized that she'd seemed a little rundown all day, but so had a lot of the cast. One of the dancers had actually passed out onstage and had to be carried off. A little alarm went off in Christian's head, and he held a hand up to Alyse's forehead. "You're burning up," he told her.

She nodded and hugged her arms around her body. "But I'm so cold," she whispered.

Christian thought for a minute. This wasn't good. She was clearly ill, he'd seen people earlier in the day that were ill as well…the last thing they needed was some bug going around the cast a week before they were set to open, but it appeared that was what they had. "You need to lie down, get some rest," he told her, and she nodded again.

Then she glanced up at him pitifully. "Christian…could you help me get undressed?"

For a moment he thought he hadn't heard her right. "I'm sorry?"

She sighed, and he saw tears fill her eyes. "I can normally do it alone, but I don't think I could manage tonight. Please…I can't sleep in this dress…"

He couldn't bear the look on her face, so upset at just the thought of trying to get out of a dress, and found himself agreeing. Then he couldn't figure out what to do. After all, it had been quite some time since he'd helped a woman get undressed. "Ahh…how…should you stand up?" Another miserable nod from her--it seemed that was all she had energy for--and Christian helped her to rise up and turn her back to him. He had no problem with her dress, once he blocked from his mind what he was actually doing and lectured himself sternly on the fact that she was sick and needed his help. Her dress tied up the back and he easily undid the laces. She slid her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress fall to the floor, clearly not caring that it landed in a wrinkled heap. "There," he said. "All done."

She shook her head. "The corset…I can't breathe with it on. Please, Christian?" As if she could sense the protest bubbling up in his throat, she turned her head and looked into his eyes. "I trust you. Please…"

Once more her eyes convinced him to say yes. He laid a hand on her shoulder and turned her around again. Her faith in him gave him the courage to lift his fingers to the laces of her corset and begin untying it. He worked methodically and soon had all the laces undone. He pulled the corset away from her body and laid it on a chair. She stood before him in just a slip, and he turned back to her, trying to only look at her face but failing miserably. Lord, but she was so small. He wanted to take her into his arms and protect her from the world, make her illness go away. Instead, he asked her, "Do you have anything to wear to bed?"

"Yes," Alyse said, lifting a hand and pointing to her dresser. "Nightgowns, in there."

Christian walked over and opened each drawer until he found one and then brought it to her. She'd pulled off her stockings while he was across the room, and now she straightened, holding up her arms while he slipped the gown over her head. "All set?" he asked her.

One more nod, and he pulled back the covers for her. She slid into the bed, and he tucked the covers around her, pulling them up to her chin. She turned onto her side and curled into a ball, coughs racking her small frame more. Christian's whole body tensed as he watched her, his mind betraying him by remembering another time, with a different beautiful woman overcome like this…only she had died. He ran a soothing hand over Alyse's head as she lie back against the pillow, her skin ashen, her eyes already closed. "Don't leave," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

Christian shook his head, even though she couldn't see him, and promised, "I won't." He pulled a chair over to the side of her bed and settled in for the night.

Alyse slept badly. Every time she seemed to finally have drifted off, she woke up coughing, or her nose was running, or she sneezed, and kept sneezing. Christian brought her handkerchiefs to blow her nose on, water to soothe her dry throat. He went to his room to retrieve extra blankets when she was cold, and pulled them off when she was warm. Because she couldn't sleep, neither could he, and by the time the sun rose, he had worked himself into a good state of worry.

He kept an ear on the hallway, listening for Toulouse's familiar footsteps. When he heard them, he gently pried his hand from Alyse's--she'd finally fallen asleep--and tiptoed to the door. He relayed the problem to Toulouse and asked him to go tell Zidler to send a doctor.

It wasn't half an hour before Toulouse returned with Zidler and the doctor in tow. Alyse was coughing and sneezing once again, and Christian reluctantly left her alone in her room with the doctor so he could examine her. He was done fairly quickly and told them his diagnosis: influenza. "Just like the others," he told Zidler.

"Others?" Christian asked, trying to keep an eye on the open doorway and listen to the doctor.

Zidler rattled off a list of the cast members who had fallen ill and already seen the doctor this morning, including Jerome and the dancer who had passed out yesterday. "I'm afraid we'll have to postpone the opening of the play," he said, "but of course the health of our cast is the most important thing!"

Christian gave a vague nod and turned back to the doctor. "What about the coughing?" he asked. "That doesn't seem to fit in with influenza."

"It seems to be the norm in this particular strain, though," the doctor replied. "The others this morning had the same symptoms. I'm afraid she'll only get worse before she will get better."

"Can you do anything for her?" Toulouse piped in.

"I think the best thing is to let it run its course," the doctor said. "Anything I could give her would take almost as long to help, so I would refrain from doing that."

Zidler nodded. "I'll send Marie over as soon as possible to stay with her," he began, but Christian interrupted.

"No, I…I could take care of her…" All eyes turned to him, and he shifted nervously. "She asked me last night…she didn't want me to leave, and I don't know if…I'm right across the hall, anyways, and it's no trouble…she trusts me, and I don't know who else she trusts," Christian finally finished, feeling his face flush as Zidler stared at him. But the man agreed.

"If you're sure, boy…" he said, and Christian nodded, wondering as he did so what he'd gotten himself into. "Well, that's settled then! The boy will take care of our peach and Marie can take care of the others!"

"That's fine," Christian said, and Zidler and the doctor finished their business and made their way down the stairs. Christian turned to say something to Toulouse, but then he heard Alyse coughing again, and both men hurried into the room to tend to her.

***

The next few days were agonizing for all parties involved. Alyse, at least, was mostly unaware of what was going on--her fever kept her asleep a good part of the time, and when she was awake, she was coughing so hard and so frequently that Christian was afraid her lungs would give out on her. Her spells usually ended with her in tears, and more often than not Christian held her until she fell asleep again. He rarely left her side, because he seemed to be the only one that could comfort her. Toulouse brought food down, and sat with Alyse when Christian went to his room to clean up and change his clothes. Harold Zidler came by a few times a day, usually with Marie in tow, clucking her tongue and fussing over Alyse.

The doctor was right--she did get worse before she got better. On the third day of her illness, her fever rose so high that she barely moved the whole day, save for tossing and turning in the bed. The doctor came and recommended cold cloths on her forehead and plenty of fluids, should she wake up long enough to get anything down. Toulouse ran back and forth all day with the cloths while Christian stroked her warm cheeks and whispered nonsense meant to calm her as the fever ravaged her. All day he ignored his own fears to tend to her. Seeing her this way stirred protective feelings inside of him that he didn't have the time to think about--all he could do was push them aside and promise himself he'd deal with them later.

Christian had fallen asleep in the chair next to her bed that night. He was awakened in the wee hours of the next morning by coughing, and immediately stood, stretching in the process to work the kinks out of his back. He tended to the fireplace, then moved back to Alyse's side and inspected her closely once she'd stopped coughing. She looked up at him, her face still flushed and tired, but she seemed more coherent than she had been earlier. He laid his hand on her forehead and noted with relief that it felt much cooler than before--certainly not as cool as it should be, but she wasn't hot to the touch anymore. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Alyse tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She managed to say "Water--" and Christian was up and reaching for the carafe before she even finished the word. He brought her a glass and held it to her lips while she drank. "Not too much," he said. "You haven't had anything for days."

She nodded and he set the glass down. "I feel…a little better, I think," she said, her voice scratchy.

Christian brushed his fingers over her forehead again. "You shouldn't talk much," he advised. "You need your rest."

Alyse closed her eyes and burrowed into her pillow. "Christian," she murmured. "Will you sing to me? I don't feel so bad when I hear your voice…" She sighed as Christian pulled his chair closer to her bed and sat. He searched his mind for something to sing to her. Then he remembered something he'd read, and began to sing:

"I took my love and took it down, I climbed a mountain, I turned around. And I saw my reflection in a snow covered hill, 'til a landslide brought it down. Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? Oh…Well I've been afraid of changing cause I've built my life around you, time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I'm getting older, too…I'm getting older, too…I took my love and took it down, I climbed a mountain, I turned around. And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hill, the landslide brought it down…the landslide brought it down.."

He finished the song and glanced down at her, thinking she'd fallen asleep. But she opened her eyes and stared at him. "My poem," she whispered. "That was one of my poems."

"I know, I…I hope you don't mind…" Oh, he really hoped she wouldn't ask him how he remembered the words. He didn't think he could admit that everything she'd written and let him read was etched into his memory.

She shook her head and closed her eyes again. "No…I can't think of anything better than you singing my poetry."

Her breathing told Christian that she'd fallen asleep, and he watched her for a few more minutes. Her eyelashes were dark against her cheeks, and she looked so vulnerable and young that his heart ached. His resistance crumbled, and he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then he readjusted her blankets and settled back into his chair.

***

By the next evening, Alyse was sitting in bed, propped up with pillows. She'd had a barrage of visitors, starting with the doctor, followed by Harold and Marie, Toulouse, then the doctor once again. He'd announced that she was on the road to recovery, but still needed to stay in bed a few more days. She hadn't put up a fuss, because she was exhausted and still coughing. After everyone had left she was ready to call it a day, but Christian apparently had other ideas. She'd not been alone for five minutes when he came through the doorway carrying a wooden tray. "Soup," he announced, bringing it over and setting it on the table next to her bed. "It's good for what ails you." He handed her a bowl and spoon, then removed the tray, set a cup of tea in its place, and sat down in a chair across the room. He picked up his own bowl and glanced at her. "Go on, eat," he said, a stern look on his face that gave way to a grin when she rolled her eyes at him. "Just be careful, it's still hot."

Dutifully she lifted her bowl and blew on the soup for a moment. A question was nagging at her, and she had to ask him. "Christian, how long was I sick?" She'd lost all track of days during her illness, and still wasn't sure what day it was--no one had thought to tell her that.

He thought for a minute, then said, "This is the fifth day. Not so long, considering how sick you were."

Alyse nodded, then asked, "And you've been here…the whole time?"

Christian swallowed some soup and then said, "Yes…well…someone had to take care of you, and I'm just right across the way…" His voice trailed off and his eyes met hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded, focusing his attention on his soup once again. She picked up her spoon, but did nothing with it for a moment. She couldn't believe that he'd sat with her for four days while she wandered in and out of consciousness, coughing and sniffling and crying. He was so sweet and kind hearted, she thought, lifting her spoon to her lips. It was no wonder she loved him…

She gave a little gasp at that thought, and Christian glanced at her. "Are you all right?"

Alyse nodded. "I just--burnt my tongue, is all," she lied.

Christian laughed. "I told you it was hot!" He shook his head and gave her his sweet smile--the smile, she'd noticed, that he only used with her--and she swore she felt her heart flip over in her chest.

She could have blamed her thoughts on the fever, but her temperature had been near normal most of the day. She could have said it was just a feeling of gratitude to him, that she was confusing it with something else. But deep down, she knew she had to face the truth. She had gone and done the very thing she'd been warning herself against since the day she had met him.

She'd fallen in love with Christian.

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[song:

Landslide-Fleetwood Mac/Smashing Pumpkins]

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[ a/n: I think I probably invented a strain of the flu here--please chalk it up to artistic license. And also, I credit artistic license for Toulouse still being alive ;) I should have mentioned that sooner but forgot. Thanks for all the reviews, keep them coming! : ) ]