Nobody was much in the mood to continue on to New York after that hell trip; the rescue ship just took them all back to England. After Ciel had finished reuniting with his in-laws and fiancée, he went to look for his servants in the sea of survivors.
Sebastian had been clumsily wrapped up in bandages and was still rather battered and bruised. His skin was unnaturally white while his lips and fingertips were blue. He still looked worse than he had ever looked before, but he was smiling and his arm was wrapped around the unconscious Eleanora, who was on his chest. She was also wrapped in bandages and was starting to run a fever. Ciel hoped that they could arrive in England quickly—he himself was starting to feel a bit ill.
Once they were back in Phantomhive Manor, Madam Red called a doctor for Ciel and Eleanora and an unholy one for Sebastian, and soon all three were lying in their respective rooms, trying to recover.
Eleanora had it worse of all. Not only did everything in her whole damn body hurt, the butler was being even weirder than usual. The unholy doctor had said that he had what was called a "cold fever," so he might have deliriums, but he had never said anything about the butler suddenly screaming, saying that she was dead and not calming down until she entered the room. Or her waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the butler sitting on her stomach, staring at her with horrible, glassy eyes.
It became clear that Sebastian was not going to recover unless Eleanora was with him 24/7, which didn't do much to help her recovery, but as Madam Red said:
"Once he gets better, he can help heal you! Wouldn't that be nice?"
Eleanora would've rather faced a cruise ship full of zombies again—even alone and unarmed—than have the butler play doctor for her.
But she had to admit that he truly was getting better. His body started warming up again and his lips returned to their normal color. He could now sleep peacefully and wouldn't wake up in the night, panicked and thinking that Eleanora had died.
He became fully lucid in a week, and could hold conversations and instruct the servants what to do. Everything was on track to return to normal—only Sebastian couldn't help but feel awkward around Eleanora.
Every time she came near him, he felt himself blushing and was always inclined to look away.
"Does she remember?" he always thought. "Does she remember that kiss?"
And of course he couldn't ask her, because asking her would mean that he remembered it, and if she didn't remember it, and he brought it up, that would signal to her that 1. They had kissed, and 2. It was still on his mind, both of which were rather large no-no's.
"But does she remember it?" he continued thinking. It was agony not to know. If she remembered it, had she liked it? Was it on her mind just as much as it was on his'? Maybe she was aching—craving—longing for another one? Maybe she wanted another one—right NOW?
"Hold on," Eleanora said, "your nose is bleeding."
She gave a handkerchief to Sebastian and looked away. Once again, her mind wandered back to that kiss.
"Does he remember it?...No, probably not; he was so sick afterwards; besides, he probably hadn't meant it; it was just a combination of relief and sickness that resulted in a sudden display of emotion…"
It was ridiculous to bring it up. It was ridiculous to even think about it. Naturally he didn't remember it, and even if he did remember it, he probably wasn't caring about it. He would probably laugh at her for being such a silly human—putting such thought into such a tiny, insignificant little thing like a kiss. So she wouldn't bring it up. What kiss? What's a kiss? She wasn't even aware of such things.
"I want to kiss her again," Sebastian thought, watching her boil some water at the fireplace in his room for some tea. "I want to kiss her again…"
The feeling surprised him—no, it embarrassed him. He was a demon—he shouldn't be feeling something as saccharine as that. Besides, they had already kissed enough: once at their first wedding, once at their second wedding, and now this. That was what—three times? That was more than enough for one lifetime!
He recalled his words to her before, on that first day on that ship. That's right; he hated her. He hated her very, very much. He would always hate her. He married her for…For…For what, exactly? Certainly not for love…He couldn't have married her for love!
Then why did he agree to the matri verum? He couldn't remember, but he must have had a good reason to…Not love. He did not marry her for love. He hated her. He had to remember that. He hated her, hated her, hated her…
But then she turned around and asked him a question in her soft, slightly melodious voice and Sebastian felt his determination to hate slipping away from him. It wasn't fair. She hated him but he was starting to think that maybe he didn't really hate her…If women wanted hate, why did they make it so easy to love them?