Thanks for all your wonderful reviews!

Chapter 3.

The orange afternoon light illuminated the main room as Conrad returned from a dreamless sleep. His head pounded in rhythm with his heart, his mouth felt like cotton wool was stuffed in it. He needed water. Carefully, he pushed his arm out from under Nics head, where she rested next to him, sleeping soundly. He reached for the bedside table to steady himself while sitting. The little movement had made his world spin. His overheated skin felt dry like the desert. The fever drug seemed to have made its way out of his system, and he certainly was not in time to replenish it.

A quick glance at Nics relaxed features made him decide he would not wake her up just to ask for some water. She had a few more hours to return to the hospital, and she needed all the rest she could get. So he pulled his leaden legs to the edge of the bed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting for the gray edges of his flat to return to normal color. A deep breath freed him from the nausea in his stomach. With another cautious look, just to keep her from awakening, he got up, swayed a little, and went to the kitchen counter. Just a sip of water, a few more pills, then he wanted to return to his warm bed and relax next to Nics sleeping body.

But as he reached the counter he felt the world spin again, inwardly feeling his bloodpressure drop. Breathing became more and more of an effort, he seemed not to get enough air into his lungs. His eyes watered.

"Sit" a voice in his head announced, he reached out for one oft he stools next to the counter. But he could´nt get a good grasp, his hands slipped over the leather. The stool tipped. Had he knocked the chair over or had it slipped away and knocked him to the ground? Like in slow motion, the clattering sound of the falling stool reached his ears belated, he felt his body tumbling towards the floorboards. The cold floor sent a strangely comforting feeling to his hot skin, except for the increasing pain in his shoulder and head. Then his world went black.

Nic woke up abruptly. What had startled her? It took her two seconds to realize that she was´nt in her own bed, in her own house, but in Conrads appartment. But where was Conrad? Then everything rushed back into her mind: driving here because of a sick Conrad, finding him in a messy state, collecting food and fever-meds, trying to stay awake next to his overheated body to keep an eye on him but finally letting her eyes slip close for just a minute. How much time had passed? A bright afternoon-sun made its way through the halfclosed shutters.

Her eyes wandered around the dimlit flat and caught sight of a mass on the floor next to the kitchen counter, that should not be there.
"Oh god, Conrad." She breathed, and was out of the bed and kneeling next to his lifeless form in one swift motion. Her heart hammered as she laid one hand on his shoulder, one on his neck.

A thready pulse, heat radiating from his dry skin. She patted his cheek, inside she screamed, but outwardly she tried to hold her wits together: check vitals, try to revive, if not possible, call for help.

With one hand Nic reached for the phone in her pocket, but it was´ nt there. Sure, she had laid it on the nightstand to keep an eye on the time. She did´nt want to leave Conrad, but she needed her phone, so she gently bedded his head with a small blanket she pulled from a nearby chair, making sure his airways were´nt constricted, and got to her feet to find her phone. Four steps to the bed, four back, she was already dialing 911 as glassy brown eyes were frowning up at her, disoriented and only half awake.

"Conrad." She did´nt finish the call, falling to her knees next to him, helping him lift his head.
"Conrad, can you hear me?"
He shook his head slightly, trying to get rid of the foggyness that surrounded him. His hand went up to his nosebridge, brushing over his face and eyes, then wandering towards his aching shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked, swallowing hard to fight the upcoming nausea.
Nic shook her head.
"I think you passed out. I woke up from some noise and found you lying on the floor, out cold."

It took her a moment to catch her breath and calm herself again, so happy to see his soft brown eyes again. He grimaced and tried to sit up. Realizing his intention she helped him regain an upright position with his back leaning against the counter.

Once seated she lifted her hand palpating his carotis-pulsepoint with two fingers. Unusually, he allowed her to do so.
"Your heart is racing."

He swallowed, and grimaced again as his throat felt like it was on fire.
"Would you get me some water?" he finally managed to ask.
Surprised by her own unthoughtfulness Nics face fell, she jumped up and brought a glass of cold water in seconds. Steadying the glass with her own hand she helped him drink.
"Small sips" she recommended.

After taking some water Conrad felt a little better, but still very weak. Nic inspected his face, bringing up a hand to cup his cheek and forehead, then wandering back to his wrist for another pulse check. Conrad would have seen her decision the moment she made it, but he had closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the wood of the kitchen counter.

"Ok, enough, I´m taking you to the hospital." She announced.
Conrads eyes sprung open. He shook his head, but Nic was prepared for the argument.
"I don´t need a hospital." He announced weakly, but Nic was already pulling his hoody from the clothes rack at the door, handing it to him and reaching into the wardrobe to get pants.
"This is not optional. You need a doctor to take a look at you." Nic said decisive and Conrad could hear it in her voice that this time it was serious.

"You justed passed out on me, your heart is hammering, your temperature is through the roof and I´m not going to handle this shitty ego-thing any more. Get dressed, I drive you to a doctor. And you will let Pravesh or whoever is there look over you or there will be hell breaking loose in this very moment."

Conrad had never seen Nic so furious. At that moment, she actually reminded him of his father, and it somehow amused him that she could deliver such a speech. Maybe she was right. He felt like death warmed up, and although it was a horrible idea to be admitted to Chastain as a patient, he would at least know some people there whom he could persuade to be released with some antibiotics tonight, cleaning his bloodstream of whatever bug was bothering him.