479 Gabriel's continuing struggle

Gabriel faded in and out of consciousness. He would wake up mid-roll, vomiting off the side of his bed, into a chamber pot when he was able to. He didn't always see if his aim was true; unconsciousness quickly claimed him.

He had vague sensations of cool hands on his forehead, or holding the back of his neck so that he could sit up and sip water.

"Victoria," He whispered, hoping it was her. It had to be. 

The hands left often, and he was alone. The dreams were awful, and the oblivion alluring. But not for him. He resisted the call of the dark, terrified it would take him back to a place of no light and no sound.

He could never go back there. He wouldn't. And yet, the pull was strong.

"No," The whisper escaped his dry, cracked lips. "No."

"Yes, you have to drink," A quiet voice urged, and he obeyed. It didn't stay in his stomach long, and yet he was compelled to drink again.

His mouth was ragged, his head throbbed and raged. He groaned lightly, trying to lift his hand to hold the headache at bay.

"Fluids are the most important part of getting well," The voice came again. Had it been seconds, or hours? It was broth this time, warm and salty. He was only given tiny sips at a time, despite his mouth craving more.

His stomach roiled and rejected the liquid. The hands returned, wiping his forehead with a cool cloth, dripping a little more of the broth onto his lips. Precious little.

"Help," He tried to croak out. He felt so miserable, so hot yet so cold, his head pounding. "Help."

One of the hands moved to hold his, and he grasped it like a lifeline. His vision was blurred, the light so blinding he could barely slit his eyes open anyway. Sweat poured down his forehead, wiped away by a cool cloth.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his brow furrowed at the feeling.

"Shhh," the voice said, brushing the hair away with gentle fingertips. "I'm here."

Victoria.

Could he hold on, for her? The light was fading, and he couldn't grasp it. He was falling into Darkness.

__

Gabriel was getting worse. He hadn't kept down liquid in so long. Victoria mopped a damp cloth across his brow to reduce the sweating. Every drop was one less bit of hydration inside him. Evey whined softly, having kept her place next to Gabriel's bed as much as she was allowed. 

He groaned softly, the sound like a ragged breath from his chafed throat. She took his hand and squeezed it, and he settled slightly. His forehead creased where his dark hair was matted to it. He hated that. Normally he kept his hair cropped short to keep it from ever getting in the way, but it had grown longer in recent days.

She brushed it back with her fingertips, biting back a sob. 

"Shhh," She hushed him as he groaned again, "I'm here."

He relaxed, and she swallowed before continuing. "You've been sick for too long, Gabe. You're not getting better. You're not drinking enough, not keeping anything down. I… I need you to try. For me. Please, Gabe."

Her voice grew softer. "I don't even know if you can hear me. Can you?"

There was no answer, but there were too many words stuffed up in her heart for her to continue suppressing them. Tears poured out from her eyes. Exhaustion layered on top of emotion pushed her to the brink of control. 

"Please, Gabe. I can't continue without you. I'll do whatever you want. I'll marry you like you asked, if you'll have me, I don't care whether you love me or not. If you want me with you, I'll be there. Just don't die, Gabe." Her voice broke on the tears, and she sobbed for a moment before more words tumbled out.

"I love you. I don't know what I'd do if you died. I can't even think about it, but you're making me because you're not getting better. I'm sorry. Is it me? Did I put you through too much? You wouldn't be here if I hadn't volunteered for the army. It's my fault. Don't make your death my fault, I–"

She stopped, overcome by emotion. "Please." She whispered. "Please."

Out of words, she soundlessly wept over him, clinging to his hand. As long as it was hot, he was alive. Fever was better than the cold lifelessness of every body she'd pulled a blanket over. As long as his pulse pounded in his wrist, he was still there. Still with her.

Victoria had other patients to tend to, but she'd never forgive herself if she wasn't beside him, if… when… She couldn't finish the thought. Her soul felt like it might rip in half.

"Please," She said again, to no one in particular. Was she talking to Gabriel? To the Sorcerer? To the Fae? Even she didn't know. Whoever would listen, whoever would answer her.

Gabriel's hand twitched in hers. Was he trying to squeeze it, but too weak? Was it simply a reflexive response to a febrile dream?

She looked at his face through her tears. His wonderful face. She'd known it since it was still wreathed in childish fat, which had long melted away into the visage of a young man. They'd grown together, learned together, played together. She couldn't imagine the world without him.

She brushed his hair back from his forehead again, her fingers gently combing it away from his face so that he might be more comfortable. She paused, and squinted.

Bringing her other hand up, she parted his hair a little more. Was that a rash? A rash accompanying fever was fairly common, but she hadn't noticed any with this disease, and the location was unusual.

She gently probed his skull under the hairline, discovering the entire area to be inflamed. That was very odd.

Turning away for a moment, she went to the next cot and saw a young girl lying there. She parted the girl's hair and found the skin red and irritated. Two more beds later she was convinced of the common origins of the rash. Who would think to look under the hairline in a disease like this?

The style of this region was for longer hair on both men and women. No one had hair short enough to readily see it. Even the old men here didn't seem to go bald, so there hadn't been reason to suspect…

"Get me Dr. David. And Agatha. Now!" She shouted at Mason, who was leaning sleepily against a tent pole. He shot to attention and sent her an irritated look before her glare spurred him into action.

The moments seemed interminable until the two arrived. Agatha looked nonplussed, while David seemed concerned beneath his ever-present exhaustion.

"What is it? Is Gabriel…?" He asked while looking where she stood next to his bedside.

"Come here. See this," She used her fingertips to gently make a part on the side of Gabriel's head. "I've checked several other patients. Have you ever seen a rash beneath the hairline? What does it mean?"

David frowned, and moved quickly around to several other beds with Agatha in tow, examining and comparing the scalps of several patients.

"It does indeed appear to be a symptom. I'm ashamed I didn't notice it before, but no one complained of itchiness, only–"

"Headache," Agatha finished. "It is a disease primarily of the brain, not the stomach. To treat it you must treat the mind, which controls the rest of the body."

"Can you do that?" Victoria asked hopefully. "Are you able to, I mean? Is there medicine to do that?"

"I can try," Agatha said blandly. "It will take some experimentation. I have limited herbs, and not all are good for this purpose, but I can attempt a combination that may be effective for such an ailment."

"Whatever you can do, I will help. We will be eternally grateful for any lives you help us save," David assured her. "Show me where to start."

"You want to be my assistant?" Agatha's voice changed slightly.

"Anything. I'll be anything you need if it can eradicate this plague." He said desperately.

Agatha nodded slowly, and the two left the tent quickly, leaving Victoria to her nursing. She made quick rounds so that she could get back to Gabriel's bedside sooner. 

"There's hope, however slim," She said, "Please, please hang on, Gabe. I'm here as long as you are. If you leave now, just when we're making some progress, I'll never forgive you."

She tried not to hold too tightly to the sliver of hope in her chest, lest she crush it. She hated how frail it was, and how little.

"Please don't leave me." She whispered again, taking his hand. "I need you."

She wasn't sure whether it was her imagination that he squeezed her hand, ever so gently. She wanted it so badly to be true. To be a promise.

"I love you," She choked out. "Please, if you love me back even a little, just live. Just keep living, Gabe."