Francesca thanked the doctor as he and a few staff members bustled out of the room. She remained standing, watching as they made their way out, before she sank back down into the chair she'd dragged over to the side of the bed. Her hand found Michael's, her gaze moving over his face. His forehead was shiny with sweat, and her free hand found the washcloth in a bowl of cool water. She dipped it, then used it to gently wipe his face. His rest seemed uneasy-when she'd returned to the bedroom a couple of evenings before, he'd already been asleep, tossing and turning beside her. It wasn't until later that she began to fear that something was truly wrong; his chills became fever and she'd rung for help. The day before had been difficult, his fever raging, but she hadn't wanted to leave his side.
Setting the washcloth carefully over the edge of the bowl, she reached to smooth back his hair, then leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. Sighing, she sat back down, taking his hand in both of hers and bringing it up to kiss the back of it. Closing her eyes, she offered a silent prayer, wishing desperately for his health to return. She couldn't bear the thought, the nagging fear that he'd take a turn for the worse and she'd be alone again.
Widowed again.
Tears sprung, but she took a careful breath. She didn't think she could bear another great loss. "Just please don't leave me," she whispered. "Not like this.."
---
Malaria was a fickle disease and Michael had been lucky that he hadn’t suffered an attack while at Summerview. Though it almost seemed as if he was tempting fate by the fact that he had gone almost nine months without suffering an incident.
Today had been one of his good days though since the malaria went through cycles. A small respite before he would endure chills and fever. Part of Michael wished to get some fresh air but staying here was for the best. He still had at least several bouts to go through till he got better. Even if this was the worst he had it. Thankfully, the quinine should help.
“I think it’ll take more than another bout of malaria to take me away from you,” Michael told her with a small reassuring smile.
---
Francesca startled a bit at the sound of his voice, but she blinked back a sudden rush of tears. "Malaria?!" she exclaimed. She'd had no idea of what it was exactly that had made him so ill, but she supposed now that made more sense. Francesca knew little of the disease and what it could do, but still..she supposed it was time to learn more. "What- how long have you had it?"
She found a handkerchief and used it to wipe her eyes. "Thank God for that," she replied, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of it, her fingers laced with his. "You better not leave me. Not without a goodbye."
Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. "I'm glad you're awake, though. You- it really scared me. I came to bed and I thought you were fine, only to wake up to you burning up, tossing and turning. Are you hungry, or would you rather just take your dose of medicine?"
---
“Yes, malaria, it came from the bad air in India. I’ve had it the bulk of the time I was there. I think this is my fourth episode of it,” Michel told Francesca, since he knew of it from the doctors in India. A lot of the doctors here weren’t that well educated on it or so he thought. “I have no intention of leaving you for a very long time. Illness or not.”
Though he could understand where her worry was coming from. Especially after everything that happened with John. “It is going to be really challenging. Today’s a good day, I’ll feel more or less fine…but it’ll come back tomorrow. The chills first, then sweating and a fever for a while. There could be vomiting, nauseousness or headaches. The cycle will probably go on for a week. Maybe two. Though I’ll be fine, unless…” he trailed off, not wanting to make her worry. “I’ll take the quinine and let it settle before I eat. I do apologize for the foul smell.”
---
"Oh, Michael," Francesca breathed, heart breaking a little at the thought of him having to suffer through these..episodes alone. Never again. She took a careful breath, then reached up to smooth back his hair, fingers trailing along his cheek. "I hope not. I certainly have no intention of leaving you any time soon. And I- I don't think I could survive it. Not if I lost you, too."
She was quiet as he continued, then shook her head. "No unless. We'll think about that if we get to that. Let me get it diluted for you, and I can ring for something a little more substantial than cold broth. Do you think you could handle a sandwich or something?"
She gave his hand a squeeze, then moved to the side table where the bottle was located. Francesca had insisted that she be shown what to do when it was time to dispense it. Once ready, she turned back to Michael, handing him the dosage as she returned to her seat at his side. It wasn't much, but at least she felt like she was doing something by staying.
---
Michael was sure some of the doctors had told Francesca what could happen if things got that bad. Jaundiced skin, which would lead to death. Though Michael wasn’t going to mention that. He wasn’t going to mention that he had seen people die too. It would make things worse.
“I don’t think that I could fathom losing you as well,” Michael admitted to Francesca, since that was the truth. Granted, he had seen how resilient Francesca could be, so there really wasn’t anything that he didn’t need to worry about. “I probably could manage a sandwich, but let’s have the broth just so it doesn’t cause me to have an upset reaction to the medicine.”
With that in mind, Michael just watched as Francesca prepared the quinine. It did have an awful smell but the taste was just as bad too as he took the medicine. “You can rest too, if you wish,” he told her, knowing how time consuming the disease was.
---
"We'll start with the broth. Then if you feel like you need more, then we'll ask for something more." Francesca watched as he took the medicine, then set it all to the side. "I will. Later."
She reached for the bowl and a spoon, taking a seat beside the bed again. She held them up so he could take either if he wished. "How are you feeling? For now, I mean?"
---
“I’m feeling fine for now. Granted, I would prefer this over this over what I am going to go through tomorrow,” he told her as he worked on the broth or at least to have enough to just help the medicine settle. “I would like it if you did rest with me. I promise you that I’m not contagious.”
---
"Alright, alright," Francesca grumbled, although she was smiling faintly, relieved that he was feeling alright. She hated to think that he'd be feeling awful again so soon, but he didn't seem so worried at the moment. She waited for him to finish his broth, handing him some water. As he settled in, she crossed to find her nightgown to change into, figuring she'd try to get some proper rest while she could- it only took a minute or two to change (and if she was teasing him a little, who was gonna judge?) and she returned to the bed, climbing in at his side, hand finding his. "If you need anything, you tell me, okay? I don't want you to try to tough this out alone."
---
“I will, promise. I do appreciate you being there for me,” Michael told her with a small smile. Sure, he knew that he wanted her to rest. Yet, he didn’t want her to worry about him too much. “Let’s just get some rest, before we have to go into this whole routine again.” As soon as he told her that, he had more or less slipped off into a slumber. Knowing that he wouldn’t be prepared for this routine happening to him…again.