Title: The Cold from Hell.

Fandom: X-Men.

Parings: Remy/ Bobby.

Rating: R.

Status: finished.

Category: drama, alternate universe, angst.

Archive: Yes, just drop me a note telling me where you're archiving it.

E-mail address for feedback: morganalebeau@yahoo.com.

Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Learning to trust again".

Disclaimer: Gambit and X-Men is (c)copyright of Marvel Comics. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Remy doesn't do cold well.

The Cold from Hell.

I'm a restless sleeper, I always was, and poor Jean-Luc learned that the hard way. The first night at his home I woke up kicking and screaming. Jean-Luc tried to comfort me by hugging me, but that was the wrong thing to do. I kicked, even slapped him, but the amazing thing was that he held on, never letting go and now Bobby is the one getting kicked while I'm trying to sleep in his embrace.

What's he still doing here? I'm sneezing, coughing, sweating and even threw up his grilled cheese sandwiches an hour ago. And yet he's still in bed with me, holding me tight. His body heat is keeping me warm and I soak up any warmth he's willing to share. "Bobby... why...are you... still here?" Another coughing fit unables me to continue. Bobby pulls me upright, rubs my back and lets me ride it out. Mon Dieu, don't let it become pneumonia!

"I'm here because I fucking care, Remy, now stop asking me that!"

I manage to look at his eyes and he seems irritated. Great, I'm chasing him away! "Sorry, Bobby. I wouldn' blame you for leavin'... I'm a mess and it's gonna be worse 'fore it gets betta." My head is reeling and my eyes slip shut; I don't have the strength to keep them open much longer.

"Ah, in sickness and in health, huh? I betta start practising that!" Bobby's determined voice shows his resolve. "It's time for your cough syrup and I betta throw in some aspirin and vitamin C. I've never seen a cold go bad so quickly."

Bobby releases me from his embrace, but for some reason I keep holding on to him. I have to tell myself to let go and snuggle up beneath the blankets. I'm forgetting something, but... "How's Wiggles?" How could I forget about the puppy?

"Look at the foot end of the bed," Bobby calls from the staircase as he makes his way to the kitchen.

After struggling into a sitting position I find Wiggles curled up at my feet, sleeping contently. Bien, I don't have to worry about him. Lying back, a massive shudder racks my body. Feeling miserable, I fight back the tears that are building in my eyes. I don't understand my reactions, my need to cry, my need to hold on to Bobby. My emotions are a mess and I just don't understand why. Why do I want Jean-Luc so badly? I close my eyes and give into the memories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Petit, let me help. You can' do dis on your own," Jean-Luc says, concerned. "Stop fightin' me, Remy."

I don't want to fight him, mais I'm at the mercy of this hellish fever. It started after Jean-Luc and Henri found me. I sat on that cold pavement for way too long and it got to my lungs. Jean-Luc tried to explain to me that I have pneumonia, but I don't really know what that is. All I know is that I feel miserable. I'm running a fever, coughing up disgusting stuff and I can't breathe properly. Sometimes I feel like I'm choking and then panic takes over; like now.

Sitting upright in bed, I struggle for my next breath. My lungs feel heavy and breathing is almost impossible. I don't know what Jean-Luc wants from me, but I can't move, even if I wanted to.

"Petit, I want to put you in de bat'tub. De hot steam will ease de congestion in your lungs. Merde, why isn' Mattie here? She's much better at treatin' de sick. Remy, don' make dis any harder dan it is."

The bathtub? I eye him suspicisously. The fever is affecting my thinking and in my mind his face changes to that of the man who lured me into his home and raped me. Non! I'm staying in bed; I'm not moving! But suddenly Jean-Luc's arms are around me and he's lifting me from the bed. "Non! I won' do it! Lemme go, bastard!"

Jean-Luc's expression turns shocked and I realize what I just said. "Sorry, M'sieur." What is wrong with me? This is Jean-Luc LeBeau and he saved my life, but another face is obscuring Jean-Luc's and the panic returns. "Let go!" But Jean-Luc only tightens his hold and suddenly I'm boneless in his arms. I don't have the strength to struggle any longer and dread the things that will happen next.

"Don' be 'fraid of me, Remy. I'll never hurt you," Jean-Luc says, carrying me into the bathroom. "Stay calm and try to rest."

But his advice comes too late. My congested lungs contract and my eyes bulge. I'm coughing again and disgusting sputum drips from my lips and onto Jean-Luc's clothes. He's going to be mad with me for ruining his clothes, but I can't stop coughing! Tears of misery flow down my cheeks and I don't fight him as he takes off my clothes. I'm butt naked now and try to cover up my groin area, but I know damn well that I can't stop him if he decides to fuck me. Jean-Luc is too good to be true and I still don't trust him completely.

Jean-Luc makes me rest my head on his shoulder while I'm struggling to free my lungs of the fluids that make it hard for me to breathe. His soft words finally make it through the cobwebs in my head and I listen carefully.

"It's bien, petit. I promise you'll be bien in a few days. Mattie's already on her way back and in de meantime Henri and I will take care of you, mais please don' be 'fraid of me. I won' hurt you. I only want to help."

I manage to lift my head so I can look him in the eyes. Making eye-contact, his concern flows over me, fills every pore of my abused body and I know he's sincere. Why am I suddenly feeling his emotions? Why so clear? I've always known I'm different; my eyes are red on black and sometimes I feel other people's emotions, but never before this clearly.

I stop struggling and let Jean-Luc lower me into the bathtub; warm water covers my tortured body and I release a deep sigh. Jean-Luc was right; this feels nice.

"Try to stay 'wake, Remy. I've got to get some towels. So don' drown in de meantime."

Jean-Luc's right hand briefly caresses my hair and I close my eyes, soaking up the warmth that surrounds me. Then he's gone and I concentrate on this pleasant feeling that's moving through my body. The steam eases the congestion in my lungs and breathing gets easier. It feels good to get rid off the sweat and I splash some water onto my face as well.

Jean-Luc returns and sits on his heels next to the bathtub so he's level with me and I don't have to look up at him. My neck hurts terribly and I'm not sure I would have been able to look up at him for long. The bath reduced my fever and I can think clearer. I remember kicking Jean-Luc and calling him a bastard; I need to apologize for that. "M'sieur, I'm sorry... for kickin' you and callin' you names."

Jean-Luc's eyes sadden. "You must have had a good reason to act like dat." He unfolds some towels while he's waiting for my answer.

"Oui, m'sieur... I saw a different face... not yours..."

"Whose face?" Jean-Luc's eyes narrow slightly, but the concerned expression remains.

"A man's face..." I shiver at the memory. "He hurt me." I avert my eyes, knowing I can't look Jean-Luc in the eyes any longer; shame's killing me.

"In what way did he hurt you, petit?"

I'm grateful that Jean-Luc's keeping some distance; I don't think I could stand his touch right now. Not while these terrifying memories are surfacing. "I don' wanna talk 'bout dis."

"Mais you have to, petit. Please tell me so I know how I can help you best?" Jean-Luc cocks his head and his tone is pleading. "I know some very good psychatrists and dey can help you deal wit' dis. You don' have to do dat on your own."

A lost tear makes it down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. I really don't want to tell Jean-Luc what happened, but something stronger makes me reveal the truth to him. "Made me take off my clot'es and... bend me over and... m'sieur, do I have to say it?" Jean-Luc remains quiet and I nervously lick my lips. "He raped me..." Turning my head away from Jean-Luc I stare at the tiled wall. I don't want to remember what happened!

"Were you raped only once..." Jean-Luc's voice fails him and he can't end the question.

"Non, happened a few more times..." I fight back the tears, knowing crying won't change a thing. "I don' wanna talk 'bout dis any more."

"Remy..."

Jean-Luc's sad tone makes me seek out his eyes and I'm shocked to find them swimming with tears. Why is he crying? "M'sieur?"

"I suspected you were raped, mais I didn' want to believe it. I couldn' believe dat someone would hurt a chile like dat. I was wrong. I'll find you some help, petit and we'll deal wit' dis toget'er."

Jean-Luc signals me to leave the bathtub and I manage to get to my feet. He lifts me out of the tub and onto the floor, while wrapping warm towels around my shivering body. "Why, m'sieur? I'm a lot of trouble... you don' need dat." His hands are moving over my body, drying my skin and I flinch, but manage not to pull away from him. Jean-Luc won't hurt me; I do believe that.

The guilt that shines from Jean-Luc's eyes mystifies me. Why is he feeling guilty? That doesn't make sense. "M'sieur?"

"I didn' search hard 'nough," Jean-Luc whispers beneath his breath.

His cryptic remark puzzles me, but he grows quiet, lifting me in his arms again and carrying me back to my room. He puts me in a comfortable chair and starts changing the sheets on my bed. Why is he doing this himself? I know he has servants. I should ask, but I'm tired and falling asleep in the chair.

"You should sleep in bed, Remy."

Jean-Luc lifts me again, carries me over to the bed and places me in its center. I sigh, pleased, as the soft mattress rises to meet me.

"You need to take your syrup 'fore you can go back to sleep, petit." Jean-Luc pours some syrup into a cup.

I nod weakly; wishing he would let me sleep instead. Although the syrup tastes horrible it does help and I swallow obediently, simply too tired to weasle my way out of taking it. Next is some orange juice and I drink it greedily.

"Now you can go to bed, petit," Jean-Luc says, pleased. He tucks in the blankets and sits on the side of the bed. "I should have tried harder to find you, petit."

His last words strike me as odd. Why would he think he should have tried harder? He didn't even know I was out there! Too tired to stay awake any longer, I fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Remy? You're soaking wet!" Bobby sounds alarmed and struggles free from the blankets to sit on the side of the bed. "Remy? Wake up!"

Bobby's voice wakes me up and I manage to partly open my eyes. He looks worried. "I'll be bien, Bobby. It's jus' a cold." A coughing fit overwhelms me and I struggle to cough up the sputum from my lungs.

"Remy? Are you sure this is just a cold? Maybe I should ask Hank to come back and examine you."

Bobby's brushing some wet locks out of my face and I cock my head to lean into the caress. "Merci for stayin'." I'm not used to have someone to fall back on, especially now that I can't turn to Jean-Luc for help and comfort.

"Remy, do you think a shower would help? The boathouse doesn't have a bathtub and I don't want to risk making your cold worse by taking you to the mansion."

"Sounds bien, Bobby, mais I don' t'ink I can manage on my own." Through the years I had too many colds and the Artic only made things worse. Each time I have a cold I seem less resilent and each cold wears me down a little more.

Bobby seems hesitant. "Are you saying I've got to take a shower with you?" He blushes and then looks in the direction of the bathroom. "Well, I do have a spare set of clothes in my overnight bag."

I can't help giggling. "You wanna take dat shower wit' your clot'es on? Why?"

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." Bobby's voice is barely audible.

"Bobby, we showered in de communual showers after practice. We've seen each ot'er naked 'fore. You won' freak me out!" Merde, I should never have mentioned the abuse. "Don' treat me like dat!"

"Can't help it," Bobby mumbles nervously. "I just don't want to accidentally upset you."

I sigh deeply. "What do I do wit' you?"

Bobby smiles weakly. "Let's get you into that shower cabin."

Bobby helps me sit upright and after putting his arms around me, we make our way into the bathroom. The coughing returns and I lean against the wall while Bobby takes off my clothes. He already turned on the shower and warm steam is making its way into my lungs, easing the congestion. I step beneath the warm spray and sway on my feet, feeling dizzy. A moment later, Bobby's arms return around my waist and I rest my head on his shoulder.

"My, this is weird."

"What's weird?"

"Being naked with you," Bobby stutters and blushes slightly.

I'm too tired to reassure him and breathe in the hot steam. We'll talk later. Suddenly one of Bobby's hands slips into my hair. Somehow he managed to grab the shampoo bottle and is now washing my hair. The massaging motion calms me and I relax against him.

"You're okay with this?" Bobby rinses the shampoo and applies some conditioner. His eyes go lower and then jerk back to above the waist. He mumbles something inaudible.

"What?"

"It's nothing," Bobby says evasively and uses some shower gel to work up a lather.

"What is it, Bobby?" Mon Dieu, I'm too tired to play head games.

"The scars..."

"Scars?" The fever is making it hard for me to think logically and I wish Bobby told me what's going on.

"I never before saw the scars on your back and legs."

I close my eyes, rest my body against his and suddenly realize how easy it is to trust Bobby. He reminds me of Jean-Luc, being concerned and gentle when helping me into the bathrobe after shutting down the shower.

"Do you mind if I dry your skin?"

"You don' have to ask permission, cher." I'm swaying on my feet and desperately want to lie down, snuggled up to him. I decide not to tell him about the scars. Talking is too much of an effort.

Bobby dries my skin and wraps a towel around my wet hair. I let him walk me back to the bed and lie down, sighing blissfully. Wiggles is awake now and jumping all over the bed. "You have to walk him..."

"I will do that in a few minutes. Let's get you comfortable first." Bobby fluffs the pillows, covers me with blankets and removes the towel around my hair. "I should comb those manes, Remy."

"Not now, Bobby..." Dozing off, I listen to Bobby's soft murmurs.

"I'm gonna contact Hank, see what he thinks I should do. If you get any worse I'm gonna ask him to come home."

That's not necessary, Bobby. This is just a cold, I know that for sure. I had pneunomia before and I'm not that bad yet. I want to reassure him, but can't wrap my lips around the words. Falling asleep, I return to the realms of dreams and memories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Henri, de petit is gettin' worse. Where's Mattie?"

"She's on her way back, père."

Jean-Luc is pacing the room, looking at me with a concerned glance. I'm too exhausted to do anything else than just stare back at him. I listen to them talk for a few more minutes, but can't concentrate on the conversation much longer.

It feels so good to be in a warm bed with grown ups close to look after me. I can't remember being cared for before. I don't have to worry about food or shelter. They will do that for me. They took in a street rat and I still don't understand why. I'm grateful though for this amazing gift and I hope I can stay with them for the rest of my life.

"Remy, do you want somethin' to drink?" Henri walked over to my bed and is now pulling up a chair. They've been taking turns sitting with me.

"Oui..." Henri helps me sit upright and lets me lean against him. He even puts the glass against my lips and let's me sip slowly. Henri's emotions are different from Jean-Luc's. I know he isn't that thrilled about having me here, but he's trying to accept it for his father's sake. He's trying though and his feelings are changing. His concern is growing and he emits feelings of protectiveness, which suprises me.

"Jus' hang on in dere, Remy. You'll start to feel better in a few days." Henri puts the empty glass on the night stand. "Try to sleep."

My head's lolling, trying to make eye-ontact with Jean-Luc. I don't want to hurt Henri's feelings, but I really want Jean-Luc close. Finally I manage to make eye-contact and my fingers reach for him in a futile attempt to pull him close. He's way out of my reach. What will make Jean-Luc sit with me? "Poppa?"

A tear leaves Jean-Luc's eyes upon hearing that word and he rushes towards my bed. "I'm here, Remy, I'm here. Don' be 'fraid. You'll get better." He's sitting on the side of the bed, cradling my hand in his. "Le docteur says de fever will grow less wit'in forty-eight hours. You have to be strong and hold on."

I nod my head weakly, amazed that he came to my bedside because I called him 'poppa'. But if that word will make him stay I'll continue to use it. I want him close, want to hear his voice, see his face and smell his cologne, although I can't smell much right now. "Poppa?" I always learned quickly how to use certain things to my advantage. "You gonna stay? Please?"

The fever makes me feel disorientated and Jean-Luc is the only one I trust so I want him near. Jean-Luc's hand moves through my hair, massaging my scalp and the motion relaxes me. I never knew a caress could offer so much comfort.

"I'll stay close, petit. Don' worry. Use your strengt' to get better. Henri and I will 'ways be close. You'll never be 'lone, I promise, Remy."

Smiling, I concentrate on his feelings and they reassure me that he's speaking the truth. "Sorry for bein' such a bébé, m'sieur."

"Call me poppa, petit. I like it when you call me poppa."

My smile brightens. "Oui, poppa." Jean-Luc wins the battle; I trust him, trust him completely. That thought soothes me and helps me fall asleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Remy? Please open your eyes for me. I need to check on you," Bobby says firmly. "Open your eyes. Come on, Remy, you need to wake up now!"

"You're makin' a fuss over rien, cher... It jus' a cold." I've had pneumonia a few times and know I'm not that bad yet. "Stop worryin' 'bout me."

"Damn it, Remy! You're awake! You let me think you were still alseep!"

I finally open my eyes to look at him. The worried expression in his eyes takes me aback. "Bobby, calm down. It's jus' a cold!"

"What if it's already evolved into pneumonia? Remy, you're getting worse!" Bobby sounds stressed and his eyes hold a pleading expression.

I know what he wants, what he needs; reassurance. But he won't believe me. "You want Hank to check on me? Is dat it? Would dat make you feel betta?" Bobby nods fervently. I sigh, knowing I can't deny him that request; he's taking care of me and if Hank's words will make him feel better I've got to give in.

"Go 'head, Bobby. Mais he'll tell you de same t'ing; dat's jus' a nasty cold." I'm feeling way more miserable than I want him to know and I'm playing everything down on purpose. I don't want Bobby to panic because of me. I'm shaking like a leaf, my breathing is labored and my sinuses are full of snot. My temples are pounding and a headache, maybe even a migraine is building. Maybe Bobby's right and I should be checked on.

"I'm gonna call Hank, you stay where you are!"

Bobby leaves the room and I close my eyes again; keeping them open takes too much out of me. My throat is dry and I desperately want a drink. The OJ's still on the night stand; Bobby even refilled the glass. Okay, I can do this.

It takes me a few minutes to get into an upright position and I reach for the OJ. My arm's shaking and now I'm seeing black spots. Should have kept them closed, but then I can't pick up the OJ! Merde! I knocked the glass off the night stand and now the OJ is spreading over the floor. Merde, fuck, shit... I better clean it up before Bobby comes back and sees it. If he does he's liable to not leave me alone again and I don't need a mother hen guarding me!

I roll out of the bed and startle, hearing Wiggles' pitiful whimper. I rolled onto his tail! "Sorry, petit," I whisper apologetically. I stumble to my feet and promptly drop to my knees as a coughing fit doubles me over. Bobby's right; I am getting worse!

"Remy? Hank's on his..." Bobby's voice trails off, finding me on the floor. "Shit, Remy, what did you do?" He wraps his arms around me and hauls me to my feet. "Get back into bed. I'll clean up the OJ. Look at you, you're shaking all over your body. I wish Hank were here already!" Bobby's raving; worried and upset.

Okay, leaving my bed probably was a dumb move, but I really wanted to clean the floor. Sighing, I push deeper into the mattress and Bobby covers me with blankets once more.

"Now stay in bed and concentrate on getting better. Call me if you need something. Geesh, you're even worse than Scott when he gets ill." Bobby's grabs one of the towels which were used to dry my skin and cleans up the OJ. "That's going to be one hell of a stain, Remy."

Like I care! I'm coughing my lungs out here! But then Bobby's back in bed with me, rubbing my back and letting me lean against him. He feels so incredibly warm!

"Hank will arrive shortly. Good thing he took the Blackbird; that way it doesn't take him long to get back home. How are you doing... love?"

His expression is insecure and I feel his shyness. He doesn't know how I will react to being called 'love'. I better reassure him. "Dat's bien, cher. Stay a little longer? You feel so warm, Bobby."

"I'm not going anywhere," Bobby says reassuringly. "I'll watch over you. And don't give Hank any trouble, you hear me? You need some medical attention. No way in Hell this is an ordinary cold!"

"Mebbe it has somet'in' to do wit' de fact dat..." I need to cough and clear my lungs. After regaining my breath I continue, "dat I had pneumonia a few times."

"A few times?" Bobby raises a puzzled eyebrow. "Not while you lived at the mansion. I'd remember that."

Ai, I don't want to hurt him... but can't lie to him either. "Had pneumonia when I was a chile, Bobby... twice. Last time I had pneumonia was after dat green entity left my body. Rien could hurt me while she was inside me, mais later I paid de price. I 'ready lived at de boathouse and no one noticed."

Shocked, Bobby blinks his eyes. "What about Hank? Did you let him treat the pneumonia?"

"Hank once visited me at de boathouse. I was tempted to not let him in, mais I did. He gave me some meds after he examined me." This conversation is draining me and I want to go back to sleep. "I'm tired, Bobby."

"Then close your eyes and rest. I'll wake you once Hank arrives."

"I ain' sure I can sleep, cher... Can I have somet'in' to drink? I knocked de glass off the night stand when I tried to reach for it."

"Sure."

I sip slowly and feeling the OJ slide down my battered throat feels like heaven. "Merci."

"You're welcome, love. Now try to rest? Even if you can't sleep, you need the rest."

I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat; it soothes me and although I can't sleep, I rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later Hank climbs the stairs and listens to Bobby raving about my health. I can hear them although they're still in corridor. I sure hope Hank will reassure Bobby that I'm fine. This is just a nasty cold. Hiding beneath the blankets I peek at Hank as he enters the room. Bobby remains standing in the doorway, trying to give Hank the space he needs to run his tests on me. Merde, I hate being subjected to his tests.

"So my Cajun friend. What is it this time? Robert here tells me you developed a cold?"

I always liked Hank. Although he looks rugged, he has a gentle desposition and has always treated me kindly. He's one of the few people I allow to examine me. I'd prefer it if tante Mattie were here to check on me, but Hank will do. "Jus' a cold."

"Ah, but Robert's scared it evolved into pneunomia. Now open up."

Merde... he puts a thermometer in my mouth and I'm tempted to spit it out, but I don't, seeing Bobby's worried eyes. I'd better behave.

"Now sit up, Remy." Hank uncovers his stethoscope and warms the cold metal with his warm breath.

"Can'..." I can't sit upright unaided.

"Bobby, give us a hand." Hank gestures Bobby to sit down on the side of the bed.

Hank gently pulls me into a sitting position and I rest my body against Bobby's.

"Cough for me, Remy." Hank places the stethoscope against my back and I cough. "And again... and again... now take a few deep breaths, Remy."

I do as he tells me, but a coughing fit makes it impossible for me to continue. My eyes sting with tears and my head's pounding. Hank gently moves me until he can place his stethoscope against my chest. He tells me to cough and to take deep breaths again and I do. Mon Dieu, this is tiring me.

"You're suffering from severe bronchitus, Remy. The last time I checked on you it wasn't there. I'm going to give you two inhalers. Use them once in the morning and then again in the evening. I'm also going to prescribe you a round of antibiotics. You might not have pneunomia yet, but you're certainly headed in that direction. Your lungs suffered in Antarctica and we need to make sure you don't develop any complications."

Hank turns to Bobby. "Make sure he stays in bed. I will allow short trips to the bathroom, but nothing more. Keep him hydrated; give him water or OJ, maybe some soup. Don't try solid foods, he will just throw them up."

"He's here, Hank," I point out sharply. "You can talk to me..."

"Bobby needs to know how to care for you, stubborn Acadian." Hank sounds exasparated. "When you had pneumonia a few months ago you didn't come to me either so I'm telling Bobby to look after you as you can't seem to take care of yourself!"

"You sound pissed off..." I mumble, surprised. Bobby helps me lie down again and adjusts the pillows so I'm not completely horizontal; it's easier for me to breathe that way.

"You neglect your needs, Remy, so someone else has to do if for you!" Hank collects his stethoscope and closes the first aid kit he brought along. "Don't forget to take the antibiotics and to use the inhalers." He places the items on the night stand.

"I'll make sure he uses them," Bobby vows passionately. "Remy, I'm gonna walk Hank to the door, is that okay with you?"

I nod my head, feeling tired and beaten. I'm already falling asleep when Bobby and Hank leave my room. Wiggles moves into my arms and I hold him, letting his presence soothe me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten minutes later Bobby's back with more OJ and some crackers. He makes me eat the crackers and then forces me to swallow the antibiotics. Using the inhalers feels weird, but I do as he tells me because I want him off my back so I can get back to sleep again.

"Hank says that you'll continue to feel awful for at least three more days. He'll check on you daily and when you get worse I'm to call him at once. Man, I'm glad he examined you. At least now we know what we're dealing with!" Bobby slips between the covers and pulls me close to his chest, spooning up behind me.

"It's jus' a cold," I tell him again, snuggling closer.

"A cold from Hell!" Bobby says, only partly joking. "Feeling better?"

"Oui, de inhalers seem to work. Sorry for bein' such a burden, cher." I really feel guilty for putting him through this. "Guess you didn' expect to have to nurse me t'rough Christmas."

"Fuck, I forgot it's Christmas!" Bobby's big eyes reveal his surprise. "I'm gonna haul that tree upstairs once you're asleep. It certainly looks like you're stuck here for a few days."

"You don' have to do dat."

"But I want to do it!" Bobby nuzzles the back of my neck. "I love you, Remy. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"Scare you?"

"You have no idea how bad you look, do you? You look like death warmed over. For a moment I was scared I was gonna lose you... I know it's irrational, but I guess that's what love does to you... I want to be with you, Remy."

Bobby can't see my face, can't see the tears that flow down my cheeks. Do I love him too? I don't know. The fever's messing with my head and my feelings. "Please stay, cher... don' leave."

"I won't... won't let you go, love."

I can't get back to sleep and listen to his breathing instead. I finally found someone who will stand by me, support me and love me, and what about me? I trust him.

The End