"Havers?" Lynley inquired.

"Sir?" Havers glanced at her boss in the passenger seat a sheen of sweat on his forehead. A couple whisps of hair matted in front of his ears as he wiped his face, dragging his large palm over his chin as he sighed. He looked like he was about to keel over when he picked her up this morning. She hadn't noticed at first as she was hurriedly shutting the door to her parents home. Her mother had wandered into the sitting room and was peering curiously out the window, her dressing gown having fallen open. She ushered her into the kitchen and slammed the curtains shut, shouting about picking up from the chippy for dinner over her shoulder. She couldn't imagine another kitchen fire or pork roast sitting in the cold oven all day, filling the house with a rancid sour smell when she opened the oven door. She slumped into the passenger seat, pulling up the collar of her jacket hoping to hide her embarrassment. But then she looked over at Lynley, breathing shallow and quick as though his lungs were starved for oxygen, but it exhausted them to draw breath. His eyes were glazed and red rimmed, unfocused. Havers made him pull over after he blew a stop sign. He didn't argue. He just dropped the keys into her hand and shuffled around the car to the passenger side. Now he looked around bewildered before addressing his partner.

"This is my car," mumbled Lynley. For a moment Havers thought he was going to protest and demand his driving privileges back. She bit the inside of her cheek and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "I've never been a passenger in my own car." Barbara smirked, amused. She stole a glance at her boss, his cheek pressed against the cold window, watching cars and light posts fly by the car with unbridled fascination. As they drove past Scotland Yard he bent his head to look and see the top of the building, but he didn't protest when Barbara didn't park the car. He opened the window as she merged back onto the highway sending a few loose napkins to fly at Barbara in a bliding cyclone. She swatted at them and barked at Lynley "CLOSE THE BLOODY WINDOW!" When he regarded her with an offended look she added "sir." sheepishly. He obliged and then began grumbling that Barbara never let him have any fun. Lynley was always prim, proper, serious. And some illness had reduced him to a silly overgrown child.

On the highway, the steady speed sent Lynley right off to sleep. His head lolled over the side of the headrest and his mouth hung open slightly. A smug grin tugged at Barbara's mouth. If the boys at the Yard could see Tommy now she thought. She shook her head. Then another thought came to her, not of blackmail, but of affection. He looked so vulnerable, the poor thing. He had taken to shivering gently in his sleep, chattering his teeth and wrapping his long arms around himself. She pulled up alongside his townhouse and stopped the car abruptly hoping to shake him from his fitful sleep. But Lynley merely grunted, turned away from Barbara and slept on. Damnit thought Havers. She was going to have to wake him up. She signed and unclipped her belt and stomped to the other side of the car. She opened his door, not realizing he was partially leaning on it. Lynley jolted and started to reach for his gun. Barbara ducked.

"Jesus Sir it's me!"

Lynley looked very confused, his eyes not totally in focus as they flickered nervously around him before landing on Barbara's frightened face. Barbara held out her hand as though trying to console a cornered animal. Lynley looked at it, then brought his own hand to his head. He pinched his eyes shut in agony. The other hand that was loosely coiled round his gun dropped limply to his side.

"Headache?" asked Barbara.

Lynley nodded then wished he didn't. His vision swirled, his stomach twisted, and his head rushed, draining the last of his energy. He dropped his head between his knees, willing the bile in his throat back down.

Barbara stood very still, still embracing the cornered animal theory. If she didn't move, he wouldn't notice her and his symptoms wouldn't worsen. Maybe they'd even improve? She considered calling Helen, but she was in Scotland. And she couldn't call his mother. That would make the whole thing worse, given their strained relationship. So Barbara stood still. Waiting for her unshakeable boss to gain strength enough to lift his head let alone make it inside. Then he vomited right between his legs, narrowly missing his trousers. Barbara startled backwards just out of the stream. She looked disapprovingly at the vomit. It was yellow, liquid; just bile. When was the last time he'd eaten she wondered.

Lynley gasped for breath and dry heaved for another few moments then slowly raised his head to look at Barbara.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly. Barbara smiled slightly, searching for something to say to reassure her boss. "It happens to everyone." "Don't worry." Something like that. But she didn't know how to comfort people. While she was deciding on a bedside manner phrase, all the fight left Lynley's body and he pitched forward. Barbara leapt forward slipping in the vomit, but she caught him and pushed his upper body back into the car. His eyes were closed, and his breathing had relaxed. His jaw was slack again. Wait? Was he breathing? Her eyes widened and she plunged her fingers into Lynley's neck. He didn't even react. Yes he had a pulse and was breathing. Should I call an ambulance she wondered? But as she pulled out her mobile Lynley groaned and his eyes fluttered open. A sob of relief almost escaped her throat. But she plastered on a stern face and narrowed her eyes to Lynley's glazed ones. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What an odd look for a man whose every move was calculated. Who had everything figured out. Nothing was a mystery to him. But today just about everything was.

"Let's get you inside, sir." She offered him her arm and when he didn't take it, she grabbed his and slung it over her shoulder. Having found his voice and his pride again he snapped, "I can walk, Havers."

"Oh can you? You would have been face down in a puddle of your sick a moment ago, had I left you to your own devises."

Lynley shot her a look then drew himself up to his full height dwarfing the sergeant. She rolled her eyes and stepped out from under his arm. He walked slowly, but deliberately up the stairs into the foyer with Barbara slinking in after him. He shrugged out of his long overcoat and tossed it in the direction of the hook and miraculously it caught and hung. Havers was astonished. Maybe he wasn't as sick as she thought? But he had come willingly home? Barbara rubbed at her forehead trying to make sense of the man. Feverish one moment, giddy the next? Vomiting? Sudden burst of energy? She always suspected he was crazy for abandoning a cushy "stay at home" lifestyle for the demanding life at the Yard, but she never considered he might be mentally ill. No. Not Lynley. He was just sick. Any minute now he would be collapsing into bed to sleep off his fever.

Then Barbara heard the distinct screech of a chair in the dining room then the thud of a large body.