— trente-huit ; thirty eight —

HENRI HAD THE worst night he could remember in a long time and not even Soren's proximity made any difference.

That was mainly because it wasn't nightmares bothering him for once. If he could have slept for longer than ten minutes bursts, maybe, but as it was every time he managed to drift off into restless sleep his body would wake him right back up. He wasn't even sure whether he was actually sleeping half the time — he was caught in some strange, unfocused world between consciousness and sleep, seeing shapes move in the shadows. He was burning hot but then he was freezing, so cold he couldn't stop the tremors racking his body, but every time he tossed and turned to get more comfortable he felt his clothes stick to him in cold sweat.

Half the time, he couldn't even remember where he was. He was floating somewhere faraway but he was still far too aware of his aching muscles, the roil of nausea in his stomach and his head splitting headache. He saw Loren, her green eyes shining with tears, and Jean, a hard scowl fixed in place, and his parents. But they wouldn't look at him. It wasn't a dream, it was too real to be a dream because Henri was in bed and there was no gun. But where they really there? When he struggled to sit up to get a better look into the darkness, a hand easily pushed him back down.

"Don't," Soren said, his voice distant and faraway. "Just go to sleep."

Henri had no choice but to sink back against the mattress. He couldn't have fought him off even if he wanted to — he felt too weak and exhausted. "Can't," Henri mumbled, not sure if anyone heard him. He didn't know who he was talking to but someone was there, close enough that he could feel their warmth. Already darkness was clouding over his vision. "Sleepy, but...I can't. It hurts..."

"What does?"

But the darkness had already taken him away.

Even through the fragmented pieces of the night, he was distantly aware of cool fingers against his forehead, neck, cheek. He wanted to protest — every touch hurt like fire to his skin — but it also felt nice, knowing he wasn't alone. Every so often he'd slip back to consciousness enough to feel a cool wet cloth mopping his sweaty face or carefully dribbling water into his mouth. The water was heaven for his rough scratchy throat, but he couldn't find the voice to say he wanted more. So he just let himself sink back into the darkness.

The next time he was properly conscious, he wished he hadn't woken up. He felt awful. Henri could feel the sweaty sheets tangled around his legs and his clothes were damp too. He would have jumped straight into the shower if he had the energy. As it was, he barely managed to poke his head out from beneath the covers and wince at the pale daylight filtering in through the window. There was a figure standing by the window, phone to ear. It took his feverish brain to realise it was Soren.

"...can't just leave him here," Soren was saying. He sounded tense, on edge. "I don't give a shit about the banquet, but do you really think the Master will be so lenient? You haven't been gone so long, Jean. You know."

Henri had already been drifting back into unconsciousness but his ears pricked at the name. Jean. With some effort, he forced his eyes open and tried to focus around the cotton clouding his brain to listen to this conversation that suddenly felt important. The walls were shimmering now but he could hear the conversation.

"Who the hell else was I supposed to call?" Soren demanded, before lowering his voice with some effort. "I'm in the middle of South Carolina...no, I won't leave it to the Master. You know Kevin — I don't care, you know him and he can...I'm not fucking asking for your help. I just need a car to get him to hospital."

Hospital. Henri turned the words over in his head, still staring at the ceiling which was beginning to waver at the edges. It was only after Soren snapped a curse into the phone and tossed it on the other bed with a little too much force that Henri managed to connect the dots together.

"No," Henri croaked, struggling into a sitting position. Fuck, that single gesture left his dizzy. "I'm not...I don't need the hospital. I'm fine."

Soren stared at him incredulously. "Fine?"

Henri nodded. His muddled brain belatedly realised it had been a rhetorical question.

"You are not fine." His gaze was so fierce Henri couldn't have said anything even if he had the breath for it. There was something else burning behind his green eyes but Henri was too dazed to make sense of the unfamiliar emotion. "I would have taken you myself hours ago but I don't have a car here and I don't even know where the nearest hospital is. Jean — "

"I don't wanna see him," Henri mumbled, feeling his eyes slip shut. He couldn't muster up the energy to keep them open. "I just...why is it so hot in here? Open the windows. Feels like a furnace."

"It's you, not the room." Someone pushed his hair back and the touch returned, light and gentle across his forehead. "Just lie down, Henri."

Henri couldn't have resisted the hand lightly pushing him back down against the bed even if he wanted to and squeezed his eyes closed against the wave of nausea the simple gesture brought. "Don't think I'm going to make it to the banquet today," he admitted.

"No. You're going to hospital."

Henri was shaking his head again. "No. No, Soren, I can't," he said, desperation roughening the words. He could feel that alarm and panic rising up at the thought of going back there, of the Master finding out and the gilded mahogany cane waiting for him, of the inevitable pain awaiting him if he dared defy him. "You don't understand, you didn't see — he'll kill me if I disobey him, he told me himself, and I...I can't — "

"Okay," Soren said quickly, raising a hand to muffle the panicked words slipping out of Henri's mouth too fast to make any sense. He knew he was beginning not to make much sense and the room was bright, too bright, shimmering at the edges of his blurring vision. "Just calm down, okay? We won't go to the hospital but you're not well. I can't just leave you here alone during the banquet and the Master won't let me skip it to look after you."

"You can leave me," Henri insisted. "I'm fine, it's just the flu come back again. It's just..."

He turned away to break off into a coughing fit that racked his entire body and it took him moment to catch his breath. It would have been too easy to slip back into unconsciousness as he sank back against the pillows but he knew Soren wouldn't be convinced that he didn't need the hospital if he did that and Henri couldn't go back. The Master would beat him within an inch of his life if he was ever stupid enough to go against a direct command. Despite his resolution, he must have drifted off again because the next thing he remembered was someone holding him in a sitting position and pressing something cool against his lips. The rim of a glass.

"Drink," Soren said, his grip insistent until Henri's mouth parted to sip the water. Swallowing was harder than it should've been. "And you need to eat something."

"Not hungry," Henri said hoarsely.

"Doesn't matter." Henri's eyes snapped open at the familiar French and his heart stopped at the sight of Jean, stood at the foot of his bed. "When was the last time you ate?"

"What are you doing here?" Henri meant to demand the question but it came out as nothing more than a feeble croak. "Jean — "

"Answer the question," Jean said in fierce French. "When was the last time you ate, Henri?"

"I don't know. Yesterday, I guess. I wasn't hungry."

"I'll get him some food," Soren said, but he was looking at Jean. Silent understanding seem to pass between them. "Wait here."

It took everything in Henri to hold himself upright after Soren had carefully eased away from him and he propped himself against the headboard, fixing Jean with as baleful of a look as he could considering his sorry state. He could only imagine how awful he looked — pale faced and flushed with fever, damp hair plastered to his temple with sweat, eyes dark with shadows. He wanted to protest that he was fine, he didn't need food and he just needed sleep to feel better, but he wasn't sure who he was kidding anymore.

"I thought you and Soren hated each other," Henri said.

"We do," Jean said flatly. "Your point being?"

"Why are you here? Why are you helping him?"

"I'm not here to help him," he replied, and let the implication behind that linger unspoken in the air between them. If he wasn't here to help Soren, then he had to be here for Henri. A confusing thought which didn't make any sense. Jean had made it clear he felt nothing but contempt for his brother. "I spoke to Kevin and he says you can stay at their nurse's house, Abby, for the day while everyone is at the banquet. She'll stay back to look after you."

"I don't need to be looked after," Henri said, with stubborn irritation. "I can look after myself."

"Don't be an idiot," Jean snapped. "You can barely hold your own head up. If you are so reckless about your own health, you'll die."

"Die?" Henri choked on a laugh which quickly turned into a cough. "I'm going to die anyway, Jean. You lived with the Ravens long enough to know that it is the inevitable end for all of us who stay with them. You and Kevin escaped but look how things ended for Riko."

"Riko was a power hungry sociopath with obsessive tendencies. Death was the only end for the path he was on."

"You're one to talk about obsessive tendencies," Henri muttered.

Jean scowled. "Stop being a child for two seconds. The Master won't be pleased at your absence but as long as you return by the end of the day, ready to return to Edgar Allan, he shouldn't punish you too badly."

"Why do you even care?" Henri rubbed his temples at the relentless aching and met Jean's gaze head on. "You hate me, you made that much clear. Why do you care what happens to me?"

"I may not care, but you're still my brother. No amount of idiocy can change that." Jean looked away but not before Henri saw the flicker of something in his gaze that made his own stomach flip. "Keeping you alive is the least I can do for our parents, whether they live or not."

Henri felt a lump in his throat at the carefully detached way he spoke but anything he might have said was interrupted by the door opening. It was Soren, holding a plate stacked up with pastries and fruit. If he noticed anything strange in the tense atmosphere between the two of them he said nothing about it and he set the plate on the bed in front of Henri.

"Eat it," Soren ordered.

Henri wrinkled his nose. "I'm not hungry."

"Does it look like I care? You have to eat something."

Henri glared at him and when Soren didn't budge, waiting expectantly with his arms folded across his chest, he picked up one of the custard filled pastries. He felt sick just looking at it and that nausea rose up in his throat just from nibbling the edge. "I can't," he groaned, throwing the pastry down and turning his face away. "I'm going to throw up."

Jean muttered a string of french curses. "Such a difficult child. Fine, get up. I need to drive back to the hotel after I've dropped you off to meet the rest of the Trojans."

Getting up was not as simple as Henri expected. Just throwing off the covers and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed exposed him to the cold air, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature he felt, and he barely managed to stand up. That gesture drained what little energy he had and he was suddenly so tired his legs buckled. He would've sunk down to the floor if Soren hadn't caught his elbow and found he was struggling to catch his breath, his breathing coming shallow.

Jean looked at him in disbelief. "You're in no condition to be out of bed. You need to go to hospital."

"No," Henri gasped, having no choice but to lean heavily against Soren. "No, I'm not going to hospital. I refuse to."

"Don't bother," Soren said, shaking his head. "It's an argument I've already had with him. Your brother is as stubborn as he is unreasonable. You two have that in common."

Jean narrowed his eyes at him.

"Take me to Abby's house or leave me here," Henri said. "I'm not going anywhere else."

Getting Henri out of the hotel and to the car would have been an impossible task without both Soren and Jean to help him. He had never felt so fatigued in his life, each step stealing away what little energy he had, and he could feel his body coming close to shutting down on him. He could've sworn he fell asleep against the elevator wall for the short journey it had taken to bring them down to the ground floor and he was being half-carried, half-dragged out to the car park where Jean's car was waiting. Henri wanted to ask where he had gotten a car from in the middle of South Carolina but he was barely conscious, forgot able to speak.

In the backseat of the car, Henri couldn't stop shivering from the cold December air even after Soren had taken off his jacket and pulled Henri's arms through it. It was too big on him and Henri gladly sunk into the warm folds of material that smelt of Soren. He couldn't hold himself up as the car pulled away and turned around the corner to drive out, collapsing against the seat with a groan. Soren drew Henri down so his head was resting on his lap and caught his hands between his own, rubbing them gently in an attempt to bring some warmth into Henri's numb fingers. He could feel the edges of delirium creeping up on him like they had during the night and clung to what senses he still had.

"...wrong with him?" Jean was asking. "He seemed fine yesterday. A cold, maybe, but this is different. He's gotten a lot worse."

Henri could see enough through his darkening vision to see Jean glance at him in the rearview mirror but he couldn't hear Soren's response over the rush of blood through his ears. He was too busy trying not to throw up to pay any attention to whatever was happening around him. The car wasn't going particularly fast or swerving around any tight corners, but it might as well have been for the way Henri's stomach was roiling with every rocking motion of the car. He imagined this was what it felt like to have motion sickness. He felt hot and cold flashes, switching so fast he couldn't decide what temperature he was, and bile rose up his throat so suddenly that Henri lurched upright.

"Stop," he groaned, clutching his stomach. "Stop the car."

"Why?" The look Jean flicked him in the mirror was alarmed. "I can't stop in the middle of the road. We're nearly there — "

"I'm going to throw up." Henri groaned again and gave an emphatic kick to the back of Jean's seat to make it clear he wasn't messing around. "Stop the car right now or I'll puke all over the car."

There was a loud screech and indignant honks as Jean gave the steering wheel such a sharp yank that they swerved through the lanes of traffic to pull up sharply alongside the curb. Henri barely heard Soren's startled exclamation as he threw open the door and doubled over the side of the road just in time to empty the contents of his stomach, heaving so hard that his whole body twinged. He couldn't stop shuddering as he hauled himself back into the car and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand with a grimace. He didn't want to look up to see whether Soren or Jean were reconsidering their decision to take him to Abby's.

"Kevin will kill me if you got threw up in his car," Jean said, blowing out a long breath. "Jesus, this isn't even his car. It's that little blonde psychopath's on his team."

Soren shot him a dirty look. "He can deal with it."

"Drive." Henri sank against the door and closed his eyes. "Just drive."

He didn't remember driving through the suburban area of South Carolina near the Foxhole Court, he didn't remember arriving at Abby's house or how he made it up the path to the front door. All he recalled was swaying on the spot on the porch and the sudden rise of nausea that caused him to turn his head to the side to throw up again just as front door opened. There was nothing left in his stomach to come up but his throat burned with acid as he retched anyway, with enough force that it was through sheer willpower that he managed to stay conscious.

"Good lord!" The exclamation belonged to a distinctly female voice and then Henri was being ushered into the warmth of the house. He made out a kind matronly face that was looking at him with concerned brown eyes. "Kevin told us to expect you, Jean, but he didn't tell us it would be this bad."

"I did not think it would be this bad," Jean said, and Henri was distantly aware of the fact he had switched back to English. It hadn't occurred to him until that moment they'd been speaking in French this entire time. "Are you able to stay with him, Abby?"

"Of course! Poor thing, he's shaking," Abby said sympathetically. "Get him to the spare bedroom just down the hall. The room you stayed in, Jean. Does he want anything? A hot drink? Food?"

Henri managed to shake his head and wondered how he was still standing when he couldn't even feel his own legs. It was only later, when not dazed and feverish with confusion, that he realised Soren had been practically holding up. Henri knew the conversation had continued, Soren's voice lost among the hum, but he couldn't hear anything over the tinny ringing in his ears. Black spots were dancing in his vision and he still had this awful feeling as if he needed to vomit, even though his stomach was empty. Hands guided him further into the house and Jean's voice faded out of earshot, along with Abby's. Henri was relieved when he finally sank down against the bed and was half-asleep before remembering who he had come with.

"Soren?" Henri murmured.

A hand, cool and soft, found his. "I'm here."

"Please don't go," he whispered, too drained and aching to care how pathetic he sounded. He hadn't been this ill since he was a kid and it was more terrifying that he expected, in this foreign country surrounded by people who couldn't wait to see him fall. "Stay. For a bit."

"I can't." Henri forced his eyes open to see Soren frowning down at him and he gave Henri's hand a tight squeeze. "I wish I could, Henri, but the Master will be expecting us both. I need to return and explain the situation to him."

Henri stomach twisted. "He's going to be so angry. He'll kill me."

"No," Soren said fiercely. "I'll deal with it."

"You always say that," Henri mumbled, unable to even find the strength to hold his eyes open. He'd spent the past few months struggling through life on little more than a few hours of sleep each month but he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so tired in his life.

"Because it's true. Now sleep," Soren ordered, with every hint of his usual no-nonsense manner. "Abby will look after you today so listen to her and do what she says. Don't make things difficult for her."

Henri managed an exhausted chuckle. "Can't help it."

"Yeah, well, stay on your best behaviour. I'll go to the banquet with Jean and return to collect you in the evening for the drive back to West Virginia."

Soren slipped his hand away from his but Henri barely had time to feel the ache of his absence before he felt the soft brush of lips against his forehead and then he was gone. Henri wanted to dwell on that kiss, so light yet important, but he could already feel himself losing hold of the consciousness he had been desperately clinging to ever since he'd woken up this morning. He stored away the fading memory of that kiss to the forehead to mull over for another day and let himself drift off among the warm covers.