Disclaimer: Yes, I'm finally back because 1) I got a laptop for Christmas, 2) I am eighteen, finally, and 3) because I got chocolate-covered cherries… (Groans in satisfaction I don't care what anyone else says: these things are way better than "the first part of HOW-A-BABY-IS-BORN speech" lol!!! Also I am wallowing in self pity, because of yet another 8 hours failure of the search engine on this Inari-peed-on website…ARGH!!! Ok…ok…

SUMMARY INFO: Jane Eyre, Rated PG-13 (just in case), And genre: hurt/comfort + Romance, Jane's POV. Basically, it takes place well before the "almost wedding"; Rochester arrived before dawn on horse-back on a rainy winter's morning. As he begins to catch cold, a concerned Jane must attempt to give aid and comfort to her curmudgeonly employer.

It was an abysmally dreary day, near daybreak, but there would be no sunlight to scatter the gloom today. I was woken from my bed by the familiar clatter of hoof beats on the front yard cobblestones. I shivered from the drafty cold of my room, as I rose to look down from my window. It was Mr. Rochester… my mind reeled as it connected what paths he must have travelled to arrive here at this hour, especially in this weather.

I hastily tied my dressing gown around me and hurried out my door, down the narrow hall, and finally down the stairs to the front entry hall. BAMP-BAMP! the door-knocker thudded against solid oak. I opened the door slowly, nervous that he would be hurt or ill, but suddenly without warning, he burst through the vestry and stormed past into the sitting parlor. He was shuddering and appeared to be soaked to the skin, if not to his very bones.

"Sir…?" I asked uncertainly, He gave no reply, but knelt upon the hearth and began impatiently stoking the reluctantly dying fire. Satisfied, at last, he pulled off his dripping cloak, hanging it on a nail, near the fireplace. Stripping off his riding gloves, his pale hands strayed to his hair, plastered stubbornly to his forehead, then as if magnetically drawn, they moved to the warmth of the fire, rubbing together in vain to dispel the biting cold.

"Sir?" I said again, more boldly this time.

"What is it, Ms. Eyre…?" He asked in his blunt fashion.

"Can I fetch you some tea, Sir? Or mayhap, a blanket? You look chilled to the bone Sir…"

"No no thank you Ms. Eyre. I do not require your help!" He replied gruffly and irritably.

"Yes Sir," I turned to leave when I heard:

"Hah-hah-CHOO-AH!!!" I spun quickly to see that he had issued a loud and equally terrible sneeze, bringing the back of his hand to his nose. It was then that the contrast between his tanned hands and his abnormally ghostly visage was made clear to me.

"Bless, sir…" I said and handed him my pocket handkerchief. As he reached for it, I sat down beside him on the chaise and put my palm to his brow. It felt warm and clammy to the touch and much to my horror; I could feel him shivering violently through his garments. "Sir, let me help you to bed. You need rest, or you will become ill…" I added the last despite my suspicions that that was already inevitable, as he seemed quite sick to this point!

He looked for a moment as though he wanted nothing more than to scowl and retreat from my touch, but his wet clothes got the better of him once again, He released a second sneeze, to my dismay, more earnest than the first, and that sneeze was consequently followed by a third.

"HAH-HAH-Uh-KHAAHH!!... Uh-HUH-HUH-CHAH!!!"

'Please, Mr. Rochester, let's get you into dry clothes and a warm bed. I'll make you some tea and get dressed once you're settled." He hesitated, but then,

"As you wish Ms. Eyre…"

Wrapping my arm around the small of his back, I helped him up the stairs to his room. There, I laid out his warmest fleece night-shirt, house-slippers, and his robe. While he changed behind the dressing screen, I went to the linen cupboard and retrieved a thick woolen blanket. Taking it and spreading it over the bed's coverlet and then repeated my last effort, with the quilt at the foot of his bed. Finally, he emerged, fully dressed, his face still pale and drawn. I turned down the spread, allowing him to lie down and re-covered him up to his shoulders.

At last, I surveyed my accomplished tasks: He was dry; in hearth-warmed night-clothes and a blanket-laden bed. He shivered slightly, I supposed from his fever, and his face remained pallid. I watched as he cleared his throat and winced. So, he has a sore-throat, as well… I perched on the edge of his bed; he closed his eyes wearily.

"Sir,… I will return after I've made you some hot tea, it will help your throat." He took a deep breath and nodded while stifling a small cough.

(You know what? I am really wiped, so this will be continue in my next chapter. And yes, for all my Twilightians out there I am desperately trying to piece together chapter 4, it has already taken me four tries to get two decent pages, so please, it will only take a little while longer. I want to make this one really good for my readers' sakes, my guess is they have been looking forward to this chapter for –Holydefecation!- six months now… thank you for those of you still hanging in there. Much Love to you all. WG-17)