Ellette retired to the living room and her old, familiar pull out couch. She’d been considering investing in a futon, but since she’d not needed to use the couch since they’d moved, she’d forgotten how uncomfortable the old bed had become. Laying down, she couldn’t help but wish for the warmth of Rand beside her. Ellette found herself studying the card that Boris had left.

Did she dare call him? Was she ready for what he had to tell her? She sighed, fingering the worn and fraying edges. It was easy enough to explain away its appearance in her pocket. It was the one she’d picked up from that cafe long ago. Though she hadn’t seen it for ages, she could reason that she’d simply forgotten it had been in her pocket.

Of course, considering her talents and the stresses in her life of late, it was also becoming easier to believe he’d put it there by some magical means. After a while, she put the wrinkled card down on the side table and rolled over on her side. Sleep came with difficulty, she was cold, restless, and fearful of what her dreams would bring.

She awoke from a blissfully dreamless rest to the sounds of Rand in the kitchen. Groggy and disoriented, she sat up to look over the back of the couch. It was still dark out, and while the days had been growing shorter, she was sure it was still too early, especially after he’d worked such a late shift the night before.

“What are you doing up?” Her voice was slurred, and she rubbed her eyes, blinking to focus. He’d turned on the light over the stove, but it didn’t do much to illuminate the kitchen.

“Looking for the Advil...” he muttered, and a clatter of pill bottles spilling from the small medicine cabinet followed.

She forced her heavy lids open and climbed to her feet. “Headache?” she asked, making her way to the kitchen, shivering slightly outside the cocoon of her blankets.

“Fever I think,” his voice was groggy and muted as he bent to gather up the bottles. She crouched to help him, taking the bottles.

Setting them on the table, she put a hand on his forehead. He was indeed feverish. “You’re burning up. Go sit, I’ll find the medicine.” He nodded, clearly relieved, and shuffled to the couch. He sat down hard, leaning back against the couch back.

He’d managed to spill the majority of their small stash of bottles, and she had to fish a couple from under the cabinets before she was able to find the right one. She fumbled around in the fridge for a carton of coconut water, something he seemed to enjoy, and brought him pills. She stood for a moment, staring down at him, his hand on his forehead, eyes closed. He was still, his eyes pressed closed, his mouth set in a hard line as if fighting some internal battle. She reached out to him once more, fingers brushing against his forehead; it was creased, his face set in lines she was not familiar with. He was the optimist, his features, while well lined with grief, always seemed to soften into the rare, kind soul he was. To see him struggling, it set her on edge.

She cleared her throat. “Is coconut water okay?”

He nodded and took the offered medicine and drink. She settled onto the couch, the heat radiating from him was unnerving. He was never ill. Despite his work, or perhaps because of his work, he didn’t ever seem to pick up the colds or the flu that made their rounds. Between health foods, yoga, and his very nature, she’d begun to think he couldn’t get sick.

“Is there something going around at work?” she asked, and took the drink from him, setting it down on the table beside the couch. He hadn’t moved except to swallow the pills.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so... nothing more than usual,” he muttered.

“Maybe something at the cabin?”

“It’s my throat. It’s been a while, but my tonsils...” he sighed and reached for the carton, taking a long drink. “Should have had them removed. I’ll be fine in a day or so.”

She felt so oddly out of place, sitting beside him, wondering what to do. He’d always cared for her, through all the times she’d stupidly stayed out in the cold, gotten herself sick. “Let's get you back to bed,” she tried, slipping her hand into his. She tugged at him, attempting to get him to rise from the couch. He didn’t budge, only squeezed her fingers.

“No, stay. Stay here,” he muttered, pulling her towards him.

She laughed, “I can’t Rand. You know I can’t.“

“You owe me,” he tried weakly, and she laughed again.

Stolen story; please report.

“I owe you?”

“Take care of me,” he said with a pout, and she laughed again. She could tell he was uncomfortable, exhausted, and in pain, but he was still trying to put her at ease. Of course, he was also trying to manipulate her, but she didn't mind that so much. She wished dearly she could stay beside him. The distance she'd put back in place between them was uncomfortable and cold.

“I am! That's why I want you to go to bed," she urged, tugging at his hand again.

“I don’t want to," he replied stubbornly. “Not without you.”

She sighed and climbed onto the couch beside him. There was no use explaining, he knew what she feared. He leaned against her, and she put her arm around his shoulders. His body was burning, but with the increasing chill that Autumn had brought, she didn't mind it. She'd missed his warmth, craved his closeness. With his head resting on her chest, she felt a pang of nostalgia of the times she'd cared for Dani, and of those desperate weeks before her passing. It sent a chill through her.

"You really should go to bed," she tried again.

“It’ll be fine,” he murmured and slipped his arms around her body as if to emphasize the fact that he had no intention of leaving. With a sigh, she gave in, determined to stay awake, to care for him as he'd done so many times before for her.

* * *

She woke with a gasp, the sun pouring in through the windows, her phone’s alarm blaring. Rand was still beside her, his dark face flushed and still hot to the touch.

“Damn it,” she cursed. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. He'd needed her awake, to make sure the fever broke. Most of all, she'd chanced taking him with her into the dreamrealm. Her thoughts were groggy, sluggish, and hazy. There was not the clarity, the sharp transition from one reality to the next that she normally experienced when waking from a dreamwalk. It was a relief, she'd failed to care for him, but at least she hadn't risked pulling him further into the strange alternate reality that was her dreams.

“Rand.” She shook his shoulder. “You need to take something, your fever’s still not down.” His head rolled to one side, but he didn’t respond. She tried again, shaking him more vigorously. “Come on, you should probably take a cool shower too." He could be a deep sleeper, and she knew he was ill, but this was unusual. There was no hint of waking, no groan or protest, not even the faintest sign that her words or movement had been heard or felt.

Her heart began to pick up in pace as she considered that there might be something more. She pushed the thought away. He would wake, he just needed more prompting. She climbed from the couch and headed to the kitchen. A cold cloth, a few more shakes, he’d come round, she reasoned. As she ran a dish towel under the faucet, a flicker of memory flashed across her mind’s eye. She’d dreamt of the cabin. It had been hazy, more dream-like in quality than her normal dreams.

She returned to the couch and placed the cloth on his forehead before pulling the covers loose from around him. One way or another she would cool him down. She began to tug at his shirt, pulling it up, struggling to get it loose from his arms and over his head. Every inch of him was hot to the touch, more so than she'd even realized. Her fingers, icy cold across the bare flesh of his stomach didn't elicit even a flinch. Normally he'd be slapping her away, gathering up her hands in his own to warm them.

Her heart clenched and there was another flicker, a memory. Rand had been there, in the cabin, talking. He’s spoken to someone, but not her. Evelyn, had been Evelyn?

She couldn’t contain the rising panic any longer, she shook him fiercely, her voice shrill in her own ears. “Rand, come on! I know you hear me!”

Nothing. His chest continued to rise and fall, his breath shallow but steady. At least there was that. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and leaned towards him, their foreheads touching. "Please Rand," she whispered. "I need you to wake up."

A vision flooded over her.

She found herself standing outside the cabin, the air thick with fog. Sounds echoed around her, sharp and dull all at once. All light was strangely muted, the world seemed to be in sepia tones.

It was then that she heard the thunder of feet pounding up the steps into the cabin. Rand’s voice rang out, clear and haunting. “Mother! You’re here,” he exclaimed, sounding so young. Yet, as Ellette had strained to see, moved to follow, she was frozen in place.

“Rand, oh, Rand,” Evelyn’s voice was pained as they embraced. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Ellette nodded in agreement. She hadn’t meant to come and she certainly hadn't meant to bring him here. Fear pounded in her chest.

“I don’t understand,” his voice was soft barely audible from where she stood. “It’s summer. We spend every summer here.”

“No, no it’s not,” Evelyn explained, her voice trembling, as if on the verge of tears. “It is autumn, time to go home, my dear. Time to wake up.”

Rand laughed then and walked out to the porch. Ellette reached towards him, but her arms would not obey, nor would her legs. She strained, but it was futile. He was blissfully unaware of her struggle, and she couldn't help but see the broad smile that lit his features. His hands, healed and whole. He was happy here, happier than she'd ever known him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about," he replied. "It’s a gorgeous summer. I can’t wait to go out on the lake.”

“You have to go home, Rand,” Evelyn urged, “Go back to Ellette.” Her voice cracked.

He turned back to his mother, his voice was strained, questioning. “Ellette?”

The confusion of that utterance pained Ellette. Had he forgotten her so easily? She opened her mouth to speak, to call out to him, but no sound would come. The air was too thick, it stuck in her throat, like the same paralysis that held her in place. it was then that she felt the tell-tale tingling at the base of her skull

“No!” she managed to choke out. But it was too late, she was already beginning to fade. Yet while dreams normally transitioned to waking almost instantaneously, this time she seemed to hang in limbo, thoughts muddled hazy, forgetting. Then, all at once, she woke.