What can I say? I'll spare you the excuses. If there's someone still reading this, thank you! From the bottom of my heart, thank you. And I am sorry for not managing to update regularly. Life keeps getting in the way. Things keep me busy and I never felt up to writing.

I hope this update will satisfy. Let me know your thoughts about what's going on. I'd love to hear if anyone already knows the direction this is headed.

The chapter itself is kinda just setting up a few things and moving us on to the next couple of chapters which should be more interesting again.

Loads of love.

Disclaimer: Not my characters. I do not nor do I intend to make money with this.

Diseases will forever remain a huge, incomprehensible mystery to me. There are so many of them. And each and every one of them seems to be worse than the last. And none of them make any sense. One day, a person who seems to be dying, wakes up and is right as rain, while at the same time, a healthy, young man drops dead in the middle of the day. How is that possible? How is that fair? Why do people study something that is so utterly random and completely beyond any reason?

He had woken up. Nearly a week after the Baroness had arrived, he finally woke up and seemed to be alright. When I got to the hospital on that day, I found Richard and the Baroness in each others arms, both smiling and clinging to the other as though their lives depended on it. He had looked so calm, so happy. I couldn't get over my hatred for Isobel Grey for marrying the Baron though. In my head she had turned into 'The Baroness' - a cold, unfeeling person. If she hadn't married Lord Merton, Richard would be alright.

But in this moment, I could have kissed her. There was no doubt in my mind that she was the sole cause for Richard's apparent recovery. Without her, he would have died. I was sure of that.

He was in pain. Constantly. He tried not to show it, but every now and again he let the odd wince or moan slip. When asked about it, he always declined to feel anything but 'perfectly normal', as he put it. His head seemed to be what gave him the most trouble. He frequently had to rest his eyes and he slept a lot. Often, he rubbed his neck. I asked him about it once but he simply attributed it to having been lying down so long. "My muscles are just a bit tight.", he had said and I had believed him. It made sense, didn't it? And as a doctor, he knew what he was talking about.

On the first day of his supposed recovery, the pain started off in his head, moved to his neck and seemed to settle permanently in his back. I didn't think this to be normal, but everyone assured me that it was nothing to worry about. "The body is very weak after a flu like the one Doctor Clarkson just had. It needs time to get back to being completely healthy. Pain in the muscles and joints is completely normal", everyone assured me. But his headache. Surely, a headache such as this was not normal? He was wincing every time he turned his head! "It's just a bit stiff, Elsie, is all.", he said. "I'll be back to my former self in no time."

On the second day after his supposed 'recovery', he started showing signs of nausea. He refused to eat anything, claiming an upset stomach and often moaned at the sight of the food that was brought in for the patient on the cot next to his, a young man recovering from meningitis. He had been brought in while Richard was still in and out of consciousness. From what I had gathered, he was receiving some form of antibiotic in a very high dosage. Most of the time, he was sleeping.

Any louder noise made Richard angry. It started on the first day when a nurse dropped something and he got into a ten-minute rant about how it should be forbidden to drop things in a room where sick people where trying to recover. His sensitivity to noises only got worse on the next day. It got to a point where talking to him in anything louder than hushed tones made him wince and cranky.

Overall, it didn't look like he was recovering. At least in my eyes, it didn't. People, however, agreed on how he was getting better. Apparently, no one had believed he would wake up again. He had already been considered to be in too bad a state from the flu to make it out of the hospital in anything other than a coffin. Thinking about this still made me choke up and cry.

"Why are you crying, Elsie? Why is everyone always crying around here?", he said and took my hand.

"I'm just relieved to have you back among the living, is all."

A small, lazy smile spread across his lips for a second before he quickly dropped it and his hand shot to his forehead.

"Blasted headache." he murmured. We didn't talk much after this. Usually we just sat in silence during my visits.

"Have I thanked you?", he started, pulling me out of my thoughts again. "For saving my life." he continued when he saw the questioning expression on my face.

"You don't need to thank me for that, Richard. That's what friends are for." I said. "Thanks anyway." he said in a way that made it clear that he didn't need and want me to respond.

After another half an hour, I stood up and prepared to leave. He didn't say anything, just followed my process with his eyes. I knew how much it hurt his head to move his eyes around so I tried to stay in his field of vision. When I was just about to grab my purse and say my goodbye, the food for the patient next to him was brought in. Richard moaned once more. This time, though, his moan suddenly turned into retching and I only had enough time to pull my bag out of the way before he started throwing up on the floor violently.

The whole room went quiet and everyone's shocked eyes landed on him. None of them looked as shocked as Richard himself did, though.

Not knowing what else to do, I asked one of the nurses for something to clean up with. She returned with a bucket full of water and a rag. I quickly set to mopping off the floor. All the while I kept my eyes on my task.

"Elsie, please. You don't have to do this." he said in a weak voice.

"I know, I said. But it makes me feel useful and I don't mind. It's not the first bit of vomit I cleaned up in my life. Working in a house where alcohol is freely flowing on many an occasion ensured my fair share of vomit-mopping." I joked. He laughed quietly, then moaned again. His headache.

When I was done cleaning, I grabbed my bag. "I have to go now, Richard.", I said needlessly. "Thank you, Elsie. For cleaning up, for coming every day, for saving my life. Thank you." He grabbed my hand once more and gave it a light squeeze.

"Anytime." I said and squeezed his hand back. I stood next to him for some time before letting his hand fall on the blankets on his bed.

"Would you mind closing the curtains?" he asked when I started walking. "The light is way too bright today."

I smiled a sad smile at him and did as he asked.

I didn't point out to him that the sun was already setting outside and that it was rather dark in the room. "Sensitivity to noise and light is perfectly normal." Lady Merton had said on one of the rare occasions she managed to pull her thoughts away from Richard long enough to talk to me. "It'll wear off in a few days. He's had a very severe case of the flu. We'll have to let him recover some more." she had went on, her gaze already back on the doctor sleeping on the bed. I don't remember ever seeing a softer smile on her face. 'Why did she not realise that she loves him?' I wondered for the millionth time. It was really such a pity. If she had acted on and acknowledged her feelings we wouldn't be in this situation. Richard wouldn't have gotten sick. His heart wouldn't have been broken. I wouldn't secretly look down on a woman I had previously admired for her courage. And Isobel Grey would still be Isobel Crawley, maybe even Isobel Clarkson, deliriously happy because she had married the man she loved. She did love him. There was no question in my mind about it.

Nothing could be done about it now. When I had closed the curtains, I took one more look at my friend lying on the bed. His eyes were closed again and he looked nearly peaceful. In a few minutes, I was sure, Lady Merton would return from her visit at the house and his minuscule smile would turn into a proper smile. Relief would radiate off him and they'd each only focus on the other.

I decided not to tell anyone about the throwing up incident. It was between me and Richard and the people who had witnessed the situation, none of whom would tell anything about it to anyone. He didn't need embarrassment added to the things bothering him. There was enough going on in his life already.

"I can hear you thinking, Elsie. Go. I'm alright. I promise." he said with his eyes still closed.

I just hoped he was right.

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Reviews are honestly what makes me sit down and write another chapter. Without them, I'd completely forget about wanting to keep this story alive.