AN: Thanks so much for the reviews. I'm sadly not going to be able to do what I want to with this story (Come on...don't you guys want to know what happens with everyone else on the team? I do!) and finish this before Halloween. Bear with me, please!

Chapter 4

"Come on, Erin...take a drink," Dave coaxed as he held a water glass to the mouth of the woman whom he cared for so deeply. She'd been asleep over twenty-four hours, resting fitfully in his arms. The entire time, she was pale, cool, barely breathing. His heart constricted in his chest as he thought that she might not wake from this...from whatever was causing this illness.

Erin didn't stir, didn't even come close to opening her eyes, but she did allow him to wet her lips. Her mouth appeared to be dry as cotton, lacking the rich pink pigment she'd always had. He loved her lips; every time he'd kissed her in the past, he'd been amazed at how supple and plush they were. Candy sweet, too, with a delicate shape of a cupid's bow.

Sighing heavily, he rolled out of the bed and went to gather his supplies for her wound care. Gauze, alcohol, cotton pads... He had it all in a little tray on his mahogany dresser in his room. He'd changed the dressing twice in the past day, and each time, the blood on the bandage lessened. He didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign; either the wound was clotting, or she was running out of blood to give.

With utmost care, he rolled her to her unaffected side and began to slowly peel away the bandaging. No blood was on the old bandage, but the wound was dark with dried blood, and the surrounding tissues were an angry red. Methodically, he dabbed at the surface with a alcohol-soaked cotton pad and then applied a little of the thick, triple antibiotic ointment he had.

"That's it for my first aid knowledge," he said, placing the large gauze bandage on her side and taping it to her skin with masking tape. He had every other supply, but he lacked the kind of tape nurses and doctors used.

As he moved her to her back, Erin moaned softly. It made Dave jump; it was the first sound he'd heard her make since she'd said his name.

"Erin?"

Dave studied Erin, looking for any other sign of life, any sign that she could possibly be coming around to wakefulness.

Nothing.

Frustration welled up in him, but then just as quickly, he took a deep breath of air and then let it go. What good did frustration get him? It didn't change a damned thing.

He reached down and touched the cheek of the woman lying in his bed, and his lips quirked in a slight smile. "You always did know how to push my buttons best, cara."

At that moment, Erin moaned, a very slight, very quiet sound that barely breached his eardrums. He paused again, waiting as patiently as a hot-blooded Italian male could wait, and was rewarded when Erin's lips twitched.

"Erin?" Although he tried, he couldn't keep all of the urgency out of his voice. "Erin, babe, if you're there, please—"

"Don't," she whispered, and then she started coughing. Her frame, nearly emaciated from whatever ordeal she'd endured, shook and shuddered with the effort as she heaved with her inhalations.

Dave swept in to hold her, but she put up her arms to ward him off. Never one to take no for an answer, he reached for her, holding her anyway, attempting to help her breaths come easier. He held her upright, both of his arms under hers, as she tried to draw air into her lungs.

It looked as if her breathing was ineffectual, her prominent ribcage moving rapidly in an attempt to force air inside. But then a second later, she vomited what looked like mucous, and then she took a huge breath. Exhausted from her struggles, she dangled from his arms like a rag doll.

Dave swept her into his embrace and moved her to the soft leather reading chair he had in his room. She was still awake, but barely. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face in a pained expression. She quaked, shivers wracking her body.

"Oh, babe," he murmured, his voice thick and full in his throat. He swallowed that lump and reached for a throw blanket on the end of his bed.

As he wrapped her up tightly, he noticed she was wet. He reached for tissues and dabbed away the sweat on her face, the mucous from her chin.

Erin tried to reach his arm, but he touched her, causing it to fall limply. "Shh...shhh, cara mia. Let me take care of you."

"David..."

Joy filled him at the sound of her voice. "I'm here, love."

She opened her eyes, still pale and expressionless. Her voice was scratchy, weak. "Don't..."

"Water," he said quickly, rising from his hunched position in front of her.

Dave racked his brain, thinking of all the things he'd had when he was ill when he was younger. His mother would give him weak limoncello—an Italian sparkling lemonade drink—or ginger ale or lemon-lime soda. Now, kids drank Gatorade and all that kind of stuff for the electrolytes. He didn't think he had Gatorade, but he had some 7 Up in his bar in the basement.

He couldn't make a good Seven and Seven without it.

Running downstairs, he found his 7 Up and then jogged back up his stairs. He was breathless when he made it back into the room.

Erin was still awake. It looked as if she were struggling to keep her eyes open, but it didn't appear that she was really seeing anything. She turned her face toward him when he entered the room.

"Erin," he said, pouring the bottle of lemon-lime soda into a cup and then adding a straw. He held the straw to her lips. "Drink."

Slowly, Erin sipped the drink, and then she began to drink it more greedily.

"Thatta girl," he encouraged. "Keep going."

After half a glass, she finally slowed down and took some deep breaths. She looked so weak and pale, a mere shell of the vital Erin he'd known.

As he watched, she shivered again. Dave swept her up in his arms and held her on his lap, wrapping the blanket around her. She wriggled in his arms, and he held her a little tighter.

"It's okay, cara," he said softly. "I have you."

"David..."

He chuckled as a memory came up fresh in his mind. "Remember the last time I held you in this chair, babe?"

"Don't..."

"Erin, I'm—"

Suddenly, Erin hauled up just enough to look at him in the eyes. "David, listen!"

Dave's heart ached in his chest. "I'm listening."

"Don't"—Erin tried to push herself farther away from him—"touch...me."

A huge feeling of foreboding ran though Dave as understanding started to hit him. Before she could say anything more, Erin began to cough again. This time, valiantly, she held herself away from him the best she could. She fell limply forward after she was done.

Dave held her as she caught her breath. He then lifted her exhausted body and put her in the bed again. He tucked her in and then asked the question he'd been avoiding. "Why, Erin? Why shouldn't I touch you?"

"I'm...infected."