A/N: Sorry about the slow update. This time it wasn't my fault! The vestiges of Hurricane Ike took out my power for five days. That meant cold showers, non-perishable food, and no fanfiction.

Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers. You guys make writing this story by candlelight totally worth it :)

Disclaimer: Is there anyone who doesn't get this by now? National Treasure is not mine.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ben

Riley had fallen asleep on the couch again.

I'd gone into the kitchen to grab him another glass of water, and when I came back, he was asleep. It took him literally thirty seconds to go from "Ben, I'm thirsty" to total oblivion.

Ordinarily, I would have thought that was funny. But Riley had been sleeping so much lately that it was beginning to scare me.

I sat down in the winged chair beside the sofa, setting the glass down on the end table. The TV was on, with the volume down so that it was barely audible. I smiled a little when I saw that Riley'd been watching cartoons. The old Technicolor ones.

Then I sighed, looking at Riley himself. He was wrapped up in blankets, and his face was flushed and sweaty. I could hear his ragged breathing.

The kid had had a fever all week, and his cough had gotten worse. I was all for taking him to the doctor, but of course he insisted it was nothing. It took all my coaxing and persuading just to get him to take cold medicine and ibuprofen. And Abigail . . .

Riley had told her that if she tried to mother him one more time, he'd take a kitchen knife to the Boston tea tables. I laughed quietly to myself, remembering her expression.

Suddenly, Riley started coughing. At first, it was just a dry and quiet sound, but it quickly turned into painful, deep hacking. Riley started awake, sitting partway up and groaning around coughs. I quickly handed him the glass of water, but he shook his head and kept coughing, rubbing his chest.

Finally, the spasm let up, and he slumped back down, squeezing his eyes shut. I sat down beside him on the couch, laying a hand on his shoulder in silent support. I hated being unable to help him, and I wished he was less stubborn. It he would just let me take him to the doctor . . .

But I knew that not all of this was about stubbornness. I could see the vague fear in his eyes every time I mentioned taking him to the hospital, and I wasn't about to force him to go. I don't think I could have. At least not yet. The second this got worse, we would be in the car en route to the nearest clinic. Whether he was knocked out by cold medicine or not was his decision.

"Um, Ben?" Riley asked, pulling me out of my thoughts, "Do you think I can have that water now?"

I almost winced at the sound of his voice, hoarse and grating, and handed him the cup. "Sorry," I said.

Riley waved that off, draining all the water in the glass and giving it back. Then he lay back down and shut his eyes again, shivering even under all the blankets.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, concerned.

I was prepared for him to deny that anything was even wrong. But the words that came out of his mouth were, "I feel horrible."

A statement like that, coming from Riley, was extremely significant. "Riley . . ." I began, but he cut me off.

"Don't say it, Ben. I don't want to go to the doc—" He broke off coughing, and his face turned red as he gasped for breath. This spasm was worse than the last, and I could see the pain of it in his face.

I quickly moved behind him, rubbing his back. When the coughs finally let up, his head dropped down onto my shoulder. I could feel the burning heat of his skin through my shirt. "Riley," I said again, "If you would just—"

"No," he said, and even I couldn't argue with the finality in his voice. He shivered again, pulling the blankets closer. "This is just a stupid cold."

I really doubted that, but I let it slide, knowing that arguing would get us nowhere. "Do you need anything else?"

"It's cold in here," Riley murmured, closing his eyes.

I'd already turned up the thermostat for his sake, and it most definitely wasn't cold in the house. But he was still shivering. "Okay. I'll get another blanket. I think Abigail's just done the wash."

I tried to stand, but Riley didn't move to let me up. Belatedly, I realized he'd fallen asleep again. That was probably only ten seconds. A new record.

He was really starting to scare me.

()()()()()()()()()()()

Riley

Ben and I were arguing again.

"Riley, you're getting worse. If you would just let me—"

"I can't," I whispered. I couldn't make my voice any louder than that, but I hoped he got the intensity behind it. The man got most things.

"Can't or won't?" Ben asked, almost shouting.

I flinched, closing my eyes as pain stabbed through my chest. "Can't. Ben, you don't get it."

"I would if you'd tell me!" Ben was definitely furious now. I usually wasn't on the receiving end of his anger, and I must say it wasn't pleasant. Scary was a better way to put it, actually.

I started coughing, and the horrible ache tore my lungs apart again. I doubled over. Abigail rubbed my back. "Ben, stop it," she snapped.

I swallowed painfully. "Thanks, Abbs," I whispered.

Abigail's eyes flashed. "I'm not agreeing with you, Riley. I think you're being an idiot. But you two don't have to fight."

Ben let out a frustrated sigh. "Riley, I'm really worried about you. I've never seen anyone so sick. You sleep all the time, and you've had a fever for a week and a half. I'm not letting this get any worse."

"I'm fine," I lied. But my own breathing betrayed me. We could all hear the rattling in my lungs, and it was true that I was too tired to do anything but sleep most of the time.

Anything was better than the alternative, though. I was terrified at even the idea of getting dragged to the hospital. I doubted I could hold myself together in there. You're not doing too great right now, either, the little voice in the back of my head informed me. I know, I thought.

"Riley, please." Ben's eyes weren't filled with anger or determination anymore. They were pleading. "You're scaring me."

I blinked. Had Ben, my best friend, Benjamin Franklin Gates, just admitted that he was scared? I swallowed.

I knew that I was sick. Really sick. And if Ben was that worried about me . . .

I shut my eyes. "Okay," I whispered. Terror was trying to take hold of me, but I shoved it away. For Ben. "Tomorrow. I'll let you."

Ben was silent for a moment, and then he passed a hand over his eyes. "Thank you. It'll be fine, I promise."

I remembered the last time, two and a half months ago, and closed my eyes. "Yeah."

"I promise," Ben said again.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Ben

I woke up in the middle of the night, and, for one groggy, half-asleep moment, I was confused. The glaring red digits of my alarm clock announced that it was 2:36 am.

What the heck?

What reason did I have for waking up so late—or early? Abigail wasn't stealing the covers or snoring, and I wasn't thirsty or anything. So what—?

"Ben!" The call wasn't loud, but I heard it very clearly. Riley.

I was out of bed before I had consciously decided to get up. A hundred different images were flashing through my head, none of them pleasant.

"Ben . . ." The voice broke off into coughing, and then that sputtered into nothing. I took the steps two at a time and then ran down the hall. My heart was pounding its way out of my chest by the time I reached Riley's room.

I didn't bother knocking, banging the door open without even thinking. I froze in the doorway. "Dear God . . ."

A/N: Told you the cliffies would pick up soon. I can't leave the story like this, now can I? Please review!