Michael left work rather later than usual to make up for his absent morning hours. This was unfortunate, as he had a couple of stops to make before coming home, and he'd forgotten to call ahead to warn he was going to be late.

In fact, it didn't cross his mind that he should have done so until he was at his door, at which point it was far too late. So he was a bit worried what he'd walk into; Ellen scolding him for not calling, the children worried (and normally his children weren't alarmists, but with sick people in the house, they were bound to jump to worst case scenarios) or worse, to find Jack and Jane had decided they'd had enough of bed rest and run off and he'd have to chase them down. That, at least, seemed unlikely as Jack's bicycle was still there. But Jack had been rather out of it that morning and could easily have run off without it, just as Michael occasionally forgot his hat or briefcase.

What he found, upon entering his house, was the quietest of houses he'd ever visited. It was so quiet, in fact, that he had to stop himself from stepping back outside to check he'd gone in the right one, never mind that he'd had to push past Jack's bicycle to get in.

"Welcome home," whispered his children, and they tiptoed while they took his coat and hat.

"What is this?" Michael said, only to receive three 'shhh's.

"Uncle Jack and Aunt Jane are resting," Georgie whispered, or at least attempted to whisper; at least he was quieter than shouting. So Michael went up the stairs to check, a bit worried in spite of himself, especially when all Ellen said when she saw him was, "Oh, is that for Jack and Jane?" in a not at all scolding voice as she took his shopping bag. In fact, she sounded pleased.

When he opened his bedroom door a crack, he found his room mostly quiet and still except for the sounds of two somewhat sick people breathing. Jack, he discovered, was fast asleep, his face still too pale and his hair sticking up at odd angles.

At first glace, Jane looked asleep too, only curled on top of the covers instead of under, with one hand resting on Jack's chest and her face turned towards him. Only, as Michael stepped into the room, a very wide awake Jane turned her head towards him, and to Michael's shock she seemed to be crying.

"Jane?" he said, in a whisper of course, and she sat up and hugged her knees to herself and looked so utterly miserable that it must be confessed it broke Michael's heart to see it. He moved swiftly to her side of the bed, reaching out a hand to test her temperature. She was too warm, especially to a man who'd just been outside, but not alarmingly so.

"I'm okay," she whispered, this time the whisper having less to do with her lost voice and more her desire to not disturb the other occupant of the bed.

"You're not," answered Michael, because clearly she wasn't. "Are you feeling worse? Or is it Jack? Do I need to call the doctor back?"

"No," whispered Jane. "We're fine. Jack's fever went up for a bit but it's lower now. It isn't that it's…I suppose I'm just run down and…and this was their bed, and now I'm sick and Jack is sick and…"

"I didn't think," said Michael a bit aghast. Then, "It isn't really their bed, you know. I couldn't, after…even if I wanted to it was burned."

"I know," said Jane, "But it is their room, and…don't mind me, it's the illness. It's making me all silly."

"It's not silly in the slightest," Michael insisted, and then, "You can have the guest bed. It's smaller, but I imagine you'll want to stay with Jack…" and here, he was all little brother in his knowing grin as he nudged his sister's shoulder.

"No, don't make Jack move," said Jane. "We're fine. I'm fine. I know it's not the same thing. I just…I wish Jack hadn't caught my cold after all."

"Jus' as likely Angus's cold. Or one o' th'others," said a sleep addled voice that wasn't Michael's. It seemed, despite their attempt at whispers, they'd woken Jack up after all. "Could be you got my cold. Never know. Anyway, 's the pleasure's fault."

"The what's fault?" Jane asked, giggling a little in spite of herself at how cute a half-awake Jack looked, with his hair sticking everywhere and his words barely coherent.

"Pleasure and pain; rain," Jack explained. "'s leerie speak." And then, suddenly much more awake, he said, "What time is it? I have to go!"

"You need to do nothing of the kind," Michael answered firmly, and it said a lot about the state Jack was in that, despite his determination to leap out of bed, all it took was one firm push from Michael to have him lying back again.

"No, I really do," Jack tried to explain. "The lamps have to be lit."

"And they will be," said Michael. "I stopped off by your place on the way home from work. I was told to tell you 'thought so. Tell Jackie boy to mind the cuckoo and we'll see to tripping the lights'." And hearing Michael trying to talk like a leerie was so funny that all three of them broke down into giggles. "And," Michael added, when he could, "I've no idea what I just said, but I imagine they want to see you well again."

He didn't mention that the side trip had caused him to have to do his shopping twice; it was no wonder Jack had come down sick considering his friends weren't much better. He'd had half a mind to drag the lot of him to his house, but he knew that most of them, while a bit miserable, were not properly sick (yet) and someone had to light the lamps or they'd all be out of a job, so in the end he 'forgot' the bag with medicine and nourishing foods he'd intended for Jack and Jane. And one of the leeries whose worst ailment seemed to be a red nose had run after to tell him he'd left it.

"Did I forget my bag?" asked Michael. "Oh well, it's rather heavy and I'm a bit tired this evening. You had better keep it." Which had left the young leerie looking rather confused, and Michael looking like a bit of an absent minded fool, as well as having to redo the shopping when he was already on a somewhat tight budget, but not nearly as tight as it used to be before his promotion at the bank, before he knew Jack. And Michael never minded looking a bit of a fool.

Michael didn't tell Jack any of this, because knowing Jack he'd feel obligated to pay Michael back somehow, and if Michael's budget was tight he didn't want to imagine what Jack's budget looked like. It was enough to make Jack understand that his lights were being taken care of. So Jack allowed himself to be pushed back down into his pillows, and Jane was smiling again, even if her eyes were still a bit shimmery and crying hadn't helped her sinuses in the least.

"Cuckoo clock," Jack said as Michael was just deciding the two were settled and no one would have to sit on Jack and Jane wasn't so upset that they had to change rooms right that instant. This random statement would have been a bit alarming (and in fact Jane did reach over to try to check Jack's temperature again, ignoring the fact that she had a bit of a fever herself and was the worst person to guess someone else's) except Jack followed this up after a moment with, "Means doc. Angus wants me to mind the doc. Should mind the doc himself. He's been sneezing 'alf th' week."

"Well, do mind the cuckoo and get some rest, then," Michael said, which got a sleepy sort of grin from Jack, and then Michael did leave them to go back down the stairs.

Downstairs, the unnatural quiet was grating against Michael's nerves. Ellen was in the kitchen, preparing a broth and John was helping her while Annabel was doing homework and keeping an eye on Georgie, who appeared to be drawing.

"Do you think Aunt Jane and Uncle Jack will like it?" Michael heard Georgie ask in his normal excited voice. To which his sister said, "Not so loud, Georgie. And of course they will."

"I doubt very much that a tiny bit of noise all the way down here will disturb anyone," said Michael, who was beginning to feel like his house was full of whispers. And whispers reminded him of another time when everyone was too quiet and, well, a bit of noise wouldn't hurt them even if the children did get too loud.

"But Aunt Jane and Uncle Jack are resting," Annabel tried to protest, and then, just in case her father somehow didn't know, "They're ill."

"Only a little tiny bit ill," Michael assured them. "Little more than a bad cold. The doctor said as much when he examined them this morning." Which was mostly true; the doctor had warned that it could get much worse, especially if the two continued to run themselves ragged in all kinds of weather, but they didn't seem to have any of the more alarming sorts of illnesses out there and they weren't running themselves ragged anymore anyway, so they'd be fine. Almost surely.

At any rate, he could actually see some of the tension leaving Annabel at his pronouncement, and when Georgie leapt up to loudly share his get well drawing with his father and sister, no more was said about being silent.

Up the stairs, Jack lay in bed and stared out the window at the slowly darkening sky and felt utterly lazy and a bit unwell and a bit content. Then he turned his head to look at Jane, who was looking at him, and her eyes were still shining and her nose was still red.

"Shall we change rooms?" Jack asked, studying her expression carefully. The look he got in return was not a person putting on a brave face, as he feared she would. Instead she looked fond, then lay back next to him, tucking her head against his chest.

"So you heard all that?" she asked as he automatically put his arms around her, his heartbeat speeding up as he lay utterly still, in case a sudden movement caused her to move away.

"What?" he asked distractedly, and she sort of shifted her head like she was trying to give him a look, but couldn't quite manage from her angle so she gave up. Then he stopped concentrating on how she felt in his arms and remembered her question. "Oh…yes. I suppose I did. I could tell it was bothering you; being sick."

"Did you know I caught it first? The flu, I mean, that awful year," Jane said, and Jack tightened his hold on her without quite meaning to. "They must have gotten it from me."

"Or from a hundred other people," Jack pointed out. Jane didn't answer for the longest time, and Jack held her in his arms and wondered if there was anything in the world he could say to make things right. He couldn't bring back her parents, any more than she could bring back his, but if there was anything at all to be done, he'd do it in an instant.

"At the time," said Jane, "I wished for Mary Poppins. I was old enough that I half thought the magic were a dream but…I just knew she'd make things better. I realize now, of course, she isn't…she is magical but she isn't…she isn't God. I mean, she wouldn't just let my parents…or Michael's wife…not if she could stop it."

"The first time I met her, my mama had been dead for a year," Jack said. "And do you know, I don't think I ever even wondered why she didn't come sooner. Well, I know why she'd come in the first place. I wrote a letter…not to her; I didn't know she was even in the world. Just…I was writing to the major, if you can believe."

"We wrote a letter, too," Jane said with a bit of a laugh that was just on the edge of being a sob. It was that sort of conversation, somewhere in-between sorrow and happy memories. Then, after a moment, "Do you think, if I had written that letter…"

"Did Annabel or John or Georgie write a letter?" Jack asked.

"No…I suppose not. How do you think she knew to come?"

"I think she keeps an eye on all of us," said Jack. "And she comes when she's needed. Really needed, not just wanted. But I think it helps to ask."

"If I had asked…" Jane said, but it sounded more like it was to herself than to Jack. Jack answered anyway.

"Would it have helped…her being there?"

"I certainly thought so at the time," said Jane. "But…if she couldn't stop the dying, and she was there with us…I don't know. It was hard but…in some ways it made me…me. Strong, independent…"

"Kind," Jack offered, when she had trailed off, "passionate, beautiful…"

"Jack!" she protested, but he could hear the smile in her voice, even in a hoarse whisper.

"So you're saying you didn't need a nanny to hold your hand," said Jack.

"I suppose not," she answered. "Though I could have used a friend."

Jack was silent for a moment, then said, "I wish I knew you then. Properly, I mean, not just to wave to."

Then, of course, their sweet quiet moment was broken when Jack started coughing. And Jane sneezed, and they had to remember why they were lying in bed together. Jack still kept one arm tucked around Jane, the other being used to try and suppress his coughs and Jane, it must be admitted, used the blanket as her handkerchief instead of trying to seek out a clean one.

Once they had recovered somewhat from their latest fight against their germs, Jane snuggled down again against Jack and said, "Tell me about it. Your first time."

"Uh…" said Jack, sounding just the slightest bit confused.

"With Mary Poppins," Jane explained. "When you wrote the mayor."

"Oh…right," said Jack. "Well, I was living in a cottage…that is…you might call it a sort of orphanage out in the country. And the place was run, I am quite certain, by a witch."

"You lived in the country? I thought you always lived in London!" said Jane with some surprise.

"I told you the place was run by a witch and that's the part you find surprising?"

"Oh fine, go on. So it was run by a witch. The good kind, or the bad kind?"

"The very wicked kind. The worst."

And he told the story as though it were a sort of fairytale, only having to pause every once in a while to cough, and the shadows outside lengthened, and somewhere on the streets below, lanterns were being lit one by one.

"Hold on," Jack said, right in the middle of one of the funnier parts, and to Jane's annoyance he pulled away from her and hopped out of bed.

"Jack, where are you going? What did the mayor say? Jack!"

"I've always wondered what it was like at this end," Jack said, and he went to the window and looked down, and after a moment of waiting, he waved his hand. "Hello Freddie," he said, though the leerie on the street below had no way of hearing him. Then Jack, still smiling, turned and half staggered back to the bed, finding the room a bit more unsteady than he was expecting, as though he were trying to walk across the deck to a ship.

Jane had clearly forgiven him the interruption, for she was smiling fondly.

Unfortunately for Jack, before he quite made it back to the bed, the door opened and Michael and the children poured in, each carrying a part of the two invalids' supper in their hands.

"Uncle Jack!" said Annabel. "What are you doing out of bed?" Then Georgie, who had only been trusted with the napkins, helpfully half pushed him back into his place while everyone else started to arrange their offerings. Michael had the big tray, of course, and John and Annabel each had a bowl that they carried quite carefully.

"What's all this?" Jack said instead of defending himself. "I'm sure we could have made it down the stairs."

"Well, what's the point of being sick, if you don't get to eat in bed?" John asked.

"It's like a picnic!" said Georgie as he unfolded each napkin with careful diligence. "In bed!"

"It's only a picnic if you have your food, too," Jane pointed out. The children looked quite intrigued by this and Michael gave his sister a very brotherly sort of look of annoyance, to which Jane managed to look all too pleased with herself.

"When everyone is well we'll all go on a proper picnic in the park," Michael said quickly, before any of the children could make a dash for the cutlery.

"Look Uncle Jack and Aunt Jane," Georgie said, "I made you a picture! It's your wedding! Annabel told me what it looks like, and it sounded nice, so I drew it."

Now it was Michael's turn to look innocent and pleased with himself while his sister gave him a look. Jack simply looked a bit dazed.

"They're turning all red," whispered Georgie then, with some alarm, towards his siblings. "Does that mean they're getting iller? Don't they like my drawing?"

"It's a wonderful drawing," his aunt said quickly. "Oh look, soup. We should eat that while it's hot."

"I suppose we'd better eat our own meal," said Michael, pulling his children away. "Hands washed, everyone."

Left alone with their food, Jane poked at Jack. "Jack?" she asked. "Did Georgie break you?"

And then Jack looked at her, sitting next to him in Michael's bed, and began to giggle. And Jane began to giggle. And they ate their soup.

Then, quite a bit later, after Michael had come back for the tray and the children to say goodnight (and Jack felt just a bit guilty because he was in Michael's bed) and they were left in the dark with strict orders to go back to sleep, Jane's voice was in Jack's ear, which was nice, but her tone was a bit scolding, which was not.

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"What did the mayor say?"

So Jack smiled in the dark and finished the story.