The sky was just starting to brighten outside the curtains in Lizzy's bedroom when she began to stir; Red watched her slowly became aware of her surroundings and try to sit up in bed, only to let out a string of violent sneezes and a miserable groan, falling back onto her pillows. She covered her eyes with a hand and sighed.

"You OK?" he asked.

Lizzy peeked at Red from between her fingers. "Ugh. No. I guess I have to face facts—I have officially caught Agnes' cold," she said, certainly sounding congested enough. "How long was I out?"

"A while."

"How about Agnes?"

Red smiled faintly, remembering how they'd given Agnes a lukewarm bath together before putting her to bed. Or tried to do it together, at least. By the time Agnes was dried off and diapered and safely snug in her crib, Lizzy had passed out in her bed on top of the covers from sheer exhaustion. And, as it turned out, the early stages of Agnes' cold.

As always, Lizzy had found it difficult to completely relinquish control—she fretted while they bathed Agnes, poised to jump in at any moment Red needed help, reassured only by the fact that he obviously knew what he was doing. He knew the right temperature for the water, how to wash the little girl, gentle but thorough, how to keep her safe and calm…

He wondered how much of Lizzy's distress was simply her maternal protectiveness in overdrive and how much was a reflection of just how unskilled Tom Keen had been at parenting an infant. Had he been too rough, too clumsy? Red wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"She's sleeping peacefully. Her fever broke, oh, about—" he squinted at his watch—"four hours ago."

"That's good to hear."

Red hummed in agreement, then rolled his neck and stretched, working the kinks out of his joints.

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Couple hours, I think," he said, his voice going higher with the effort to stifle a yawn.

"In the chair?" she asked; he nodded. "You could've laid down in bed, you know."

Red froze, his breath catching in his throat. He felt like he was free-falling, like the ground had disappeared from under him. Did Lizzy realize how big a step that would be? To share a bed again, even casually, even platonically? That he would never presume to… Good god. He hoped she couldn't tell how rattled he was. His heart was doing its damnedest to escape his chest, pounding loud enough that it was hard to believe she couldn't hear it, too.

He arranged his face into what he hoped was a teasing expression and said, "And risked catching that cold?"

Which earned him a pillow thrown at his head, but Lizzy's aim was bad and he easily dodged it. He crossed the small space between the chair and her bed and sat down on the edge, next to her hip; he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and she let her eyes slide shut, leaning into his cool skin.

"God, I feel awful."

"Is there anything I can get you? Glass of water? Cup of tea, with honey and lemon? Soup?"

Lizzy made a face. "It's too early for soup."

"I thought you'd say that. How about eggs? Just some plain scrambled eggs, toast, maybe a little jam… It'll help keep your strength up."

She nodded lethargically. He smiled in relief, and when he moved to stand, she caught hold of him weakly by the forearm.

"Thank you. Again," she said quietly.

"My pleasure," he said, perhaps too quickly. "Well, I mean…"

Her lips quirked up in a tiny, tired smile. "Don't worry. I know what you mean," she said, rubbing softly at his wrist.