A/N: I have the best excuse for disappearing for two months. My computer went kaput. Hooray. But I'm back, and the final parts of this story will be posted over the next week. Thanks for sticking around, guys. It really means a lot!
There was light shining on her face. It wasn't warm.
It took a great deal of effort for Harley to open her eyes even a little bit. When she finally managed to open them a crack, she was blinded by a bright white light suspended above her. Slamming her eyes shut once more, she clutched her head. The migraine was near instantaneous, reminiscent of the worst hangover she'd ever had. She felt like throwing up. She felt like curling up into a ball and crying. She felt like dying would honestly be preferable to opening her eyes again.
Hot breath moved over her cheek. "Miss Quinzel…"
Though his voice was scarcely above a whisper, it boomed, echoing inside her head. She groaned. How could she possibly feel like this when last she remembered, she was just tired?
Something smooth and cool pressed itself against her lips and she jerked her head back, gasping in surprise. "What—"
"You are dehydrated," he murmured. "Drink."
The cool glass came to her mouth again and she gulped water, some of it splashing on her chest. She managed to swallow twice but sputtered after that, coughing so hard she had to turn on her side to keep from choking.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she strangled on liquid and she took a few great heaving breaths to compensate. For a moment, she thought she would recover, but the taste of bile suddenly made itself known on her tongue.
Without warning, her stomach gave a mighty roll inside her. She threw up.
Afterward, she collapsed in a heap, trembling. She felt Crane's hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. It was startlingly warm, which made her realize that she'd broken out in a cold sweat.
"I'm…sorry."
"I have a mop and bucket." The disgust in his voice wasn't easily disguised. The hand on her back moved to her shoulder, urging her to move. "Lie back. Rest."
Harley rolled onto her back and took a few more shuddering breaths. Though she wanted to, she didn't dare open her eyes. If another spike of light drove its way into her retinas, she had no doubt she would keep throwing up until she had nothing left to part with but vital organs.
She heard Crane's footsteps, followed by the sound of metal casters moving across the floor near her. There was a splush sound and then the soggy flop of something wet slapping against the floor. The very sound made her feel nauseous all over again.
The clean-up didn't take very long. Soon enough, the metal caster sound was moving away from Harley and Crane was approaching, the soles of his shoes making a slight squeaking sound against the wet floor.
A moment later, a damp cloth came into contact with her forehead, covering her eyes. She instantly felt some small measure of relief, though she still felt very weak.
Harley blacked out again.