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'The winter wind is loud and wild,
Come close to me, my darling child;
Forsake thy books, and mateless play;
And, while the night is gathering grey,
We'll talk its pensive hours away;-'

~ Faith and despondancy, Emily Bronte (1846)

Chapter thirty-seven - Pensive hours

"Look who I found," Kat announced, throwing open the door to the common room and shooting a mock glare at Knox who watched her critically.

"We wondered where you'd gone," Charlie replied, looking up from his book.

Kathleen took the seat between him and Cameron, leaving the armchair opposite open for Knox. She nudged the front cover of his book up with her knuckle to see the cover without interruption to his reading. Her heart skipped a beat. It was the book they had been hunting for in the library a few days ago.

"You found it then," she stated, trying in vain to keep her voice even.

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the text. Taking advantage of his rare distraction she took the opportunity to study him; her eyes tracing his features from the flutter of his eyelashes to the purse of his lips as he read. Only the sudden scratch of an almost blunt pencil pulled her attention away. Following the noise that she could only compare to nails on a chalkboard, she saw Cameron dragging a jagged, blunting pencil over his maths work. The wooden edge squeaked against the page as the scratch increased in volume.

"Do you need to borrow a sharpener?" Knox frowned, glancing around the almost empty common room. "I'm sure someone has one."

"I don't need one. I only have two more pages to complete," Cameron replied, waving him away as he grabbed his ruler, all focus trained on the paper in front of him.

Barely a minute had passed before Kat found herself speaking up. "Cameron, I really don't intend to be rude, but would it be possible for you to not use that particular pencil?"

"It's my mathematics pencil."

"I know," she bit her lip, disliking her chances now that he had begun to use a monotone voice void of any emotion.

His response was punctuated with another infernal screech emitted by the friction. "Then why waste time asking?"

Sighing, Kat sat back and closed her eyes. Although the faux calm position did little in the way of distraction, it eased the pulsing ache in her head

"Cameron," Charlie marked his page and shut the Kerouac novel, continuing to speak through gritted teeth, "will you please use a pen and stop scratching that pencil."

The red head made no acknowledgement of his suggestion, much to the everyone's chagrin. He continued to use the blunt lead and seemed to drag it across the page with purpose, the movement slowing with the formation of each individual number.

Knox sighed, shielding his eyes to avoid being dragged into the brewing argument. If he didn't see what he knew Charlie was about to do, he couldn't be implicated as a witness. Sure enough, Charlie leaned over and snatched the offensive object from Cameron's hand and hurled it across the room before reclining back in the corner of the three-seater. The unhappy mathematician scowled, retaliating by throwing his pen in the opposite direction.

"Well," Cameron glared, "it seems like I'll have to recite my work aloud until you fetch my pencil."

"Cameron. Please just get your pen," Kat pleaded. "I can't do this today."

He shook his head, "I am not the responsible party."

"Your pencil, your responsibility," Charlie retorted.

Cameron made a noise of protest that was deafening in Kat's ear.

"I'll get it!" She rose from the sofa, the action too quick for the liking of her headache. She wobbled, dizziness clouding her senses as she took a step forward and tripped.

Arms reached out to steady her. Warm hands wrapped around her biceps and guided her back down to the sofa. Nuwanda's thumbs traced circles on her forearms while she breathed deeply, her eyelids shut. His concerned eyes didn't stray from her face until he was satisfied that she was alright. Ignoring her embarrassment, she muttered, "Cameron. Maybe you should get it."

However, it was like she had not spoken. Cameron remained seated, his attention glued to the papers in his lap. He continued to recite the equations written on them without pausing to reply.

Reluctantly, she turned to face Charlie, bracing herself for the inevitable slew of jokes about to be thrown her way.

"I think you just fell for me," he winked, smirking as her breath caught.

"Out of all the klutz related humour, that's what you choose?"

He shrugged, clearly pleased by Knox's laugh. "Unless you want to admit you're sick I can keep going."

"I'm fine," she sniffed, "I'm fine. Everyone is just a bit paranoid."

Again, Charlie rolled his eyes, "who are you trying to convince?"

"You. I-" her hands flew to her mouth; the jerk of her shoulders knocked the blanket away as she sneezed.

She froze.

Tentatively, Kat opened her eyes to meet Knox's stare. Whether it was a look of defeat or a plea for help that he saw in their depths, she didn't know. But her lack of protest seemed to spur him on as he chucked the blanket at Cameron and held his hand out to her expectantly. Kat resisted the urge to make a fuss - which she figured would only serve to humiliate her more - and took the help to stand.

Now that she had surrendered in part to the idea that she was ill, the symptoms she had been actively ignoring since this morning seemed to come alive all at once. Seeing the discomfort in her manner, Knox looped his arm through hers, nodding at Nuwanda to do the same.

Kathleen vaguely registered the familiar touch on her left as he obliged Knox's silent command. As her companions began the slow journey up to her dormitory she leaned into the assistance, comforted by the firm but gentle aid of the boys. "I could walk myself, you know," she said, immediately contradicting her words as they reached the foot of the grand staircase, and her hands found each of theirs.

"Sure. That's why you've all turned me into the nurse," Charlie complained, humour evident in his tone. "Who knew I'd be spending my days escorting the sick to bed like a walking ambulance."

"Sorry for the inconvenience." She almost missed a step, distracted by the thought that she was wearing his jumper, the one she had meant to give back a few days ago. At least Neil wasn't around, she had sinking suspicion as to how he would rather vocally interpret this. She wondered briefly if anyone had noticed...if Nuwanda had.

Time seemed a foreign concept. They entered her room before she had realised they reached the top of the staircase. Perhaps they hadn't been exaggerating her condition after all, not that she would admit it. Kat let go of their hands, untangled her arms from theirs and moved towards her draws, selecting a warm pair of pink pyjamas usually reserved for meetings in the cave. When she turned around the boys had appeared to have made themselves comfortable. Knox sat at her desk with the chair turned to face her bed while Charlie examined the contents of her bookshelves.

She arched an eyebrow, "I guess you're not leaving yet."

"Nope," Charlie popped the 'p' as he pulled For Whom the Bell Tolls* from the shelf.

"Put that back in the right place when you're done," she warned, shutting herself in the bathroom to change. Once her nightclothes were on she washed her face and brushed her hair, securing it in loose side braid. Examining her reflection in the pale, yellow light revealed her peaky complexion beneath her fading freckles. She pinched her cheeks and glanced one more time in the mirror before re-entering her room. The boys were exactly where they had been before. Ignoring them, she turned all lights off but her reading lamp by the window and climbed into bed.

She lay there for a disappointing minute before she broke. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she addressed them, "how long are you planning to stay?"

"Until you go to sleep," Knox replied easily.

Rolling her eyes, she collapsed back down. "I can't sleep if you're watching me."

"I'm reading," Charlie's voice sounded from the other end of the room, "and Knox is daydreaming about his wedding. Go to sleep."

Blinking her eyes open but keeping them trained on the ceiling, she tried again "I'll sleep when you leave?"

Knox snorted, "Sure."

"Why not?"

"Because, 'Miss I'm not sick but I can barely walk,' " she heard Charlie snap the book shut as he spoke, "you'll get up and read or do some study or whatever other useless thing you're convinced is more interesting the moment we're gone."

"And then you'll come down to breakfast pretending you're alright," Knox continued, "when you're clearly delirious with a fever on three hours sleep."

Kathleen stayed quiet, struck by how well they knew her. Eventually she whispered, "Thank you. I'll go to sleep."

"Good," Knox said softly.

She propped her pillows up against the headboard to help her breathing and settled down. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to sink into the soft blankets and relax her muscles, drifting into the darkness.

XXXX

Inky black had enveloped the room by the time she awoke. Although her breathing remained limited, her mind was coherent, and she could feel the oppressive heat sweeping her body. Reaching for the lamp at her bedside, she found a glass of water and a dose of medicine. A further glance at her alarm clock showed that only an hour and a half had past. Gulping down the water, she realised it was still cool, prompting her to wonder how long the boys had stayed after she fell asleep. Peeling the blankets away, she wiped her sweaty brow and stumbled over to the window where she rested on the cushioned seat, laying her face against the cold glass. She revelled in the draft escaping in from the November night. Kat drained the glass, took the medicine and exchanged it for the book beneath the nearby lamp.

Fatigue soon engulfed her once more. Her arm falling into her lap and the book sliding to her feet as her grasp failed. In her slumber, a harsh rap on her door was left unanswered.

The door opened, spilling murky, golden light through the doorway which was cut off by an ancient figure striding in.

Gale Nolan surveyed the dorm, his eyes catching on the empty bed to his right until the he spotted the girl in the window. He moved closer, taking a pillow and what appeared to be a home-made quilt from the bed. Slowly, he approached the girl illuminated by starry night separated from her by thin glass, pale moonlight bathing her features. Cautiously, he lay a wrinkled hand upon her burning forehead, feeling his arthritis more keenly than ever as her swept her sticky hair aside to slide the pillow between her fragile skull and the hard glass. He tucked the blanket over her knees, pulling the book from her lap. Turning it over in the silvery light, he smiled; memories of little brunettes with shining blue eyes devouring the collection of Sherlock Holmes* mysteries in his private library swam before his misty eyes. Cordelia had taught Kathleen to read in his library by the very same collection she had broken into as a child. Recollections of Cordelia's short and rare visits over the last twenty years swirled in the glistening reflection of the diamond pendant around Kathleen's throat. Nolan placed the book down, running his thumb over the cover one last time before exiting the room.

The glint of the pendant reflected in his mind, reminding him of the tiara that still rested in his safe. Perhaps, he thought, sinking into his office armchair, Kathleen would be different. She would accept the wedding gift Cordelia had rejected. Just as she had accepted the pendent.

Perhaps Kathleen still had a chance at the life Cordelia should have lived.

* For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway (1940)

* Sherlock Holmes series, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Novels 1887-1915 & Short Stories 1891-1927)