He woke early the next morning stiff and disoriented. There was a soft weight across his torso that wasn't normally present, and it wasn't until he actually saw what it was that the previous afternoon's events clicked into place. Norma was shivering lightly, and Max nearly cursed himself for not thinking to move her to her room in the night. He tried to sit up slowly so as not to wake her, but she stirred anyway. He stilled and held his breath, afraid of what her reaction was going to be, never mind that she had been the one to get them into their current position.

She did nothing but lift her head and blink sleepily, dropping it back down when she was assured of her whereabouts. He relaxed, letting out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. Norma trembled violently, pressing even closer against him.

"Max," she whispered against his neck, "I don't feel very well."

Any remaining feelings of sleep he held onto were wiped away at her admission. He sat up, taking her with him, and cupped her chin to get a better look at her face. In the dim pre-dawn light he was able to see how pale she was. It explained the tiredness, and the reason she was laying on top of him all of a sudden. He suspected she had been running a slight temperature the day before, but it was so low that neither of them noticed it.

He put and arm under her knees and cradled her back with the other, standing and preparing to carry her up to her room. She looked up at him for a split second before beginning to squirm in an effort to be put down. He almost dropped her, but regained his balance and grip.

"Max! Put me down! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

"Taking you to your room, Madame."

"I can get there myself. Put me down, Max!"

They had reached the stairs by this point and he calmly began climbing them. She began to beat his chest with her fists, but she was too weak to cause much pain. He was actually more worried about dropping her than her hurting him. She settled down about the time he hit the landing at the top of the stairs. She just sort of slumped against him and sighed miserably.

Not for the the first time, he was grateful that none of the doors in the house had doorknobs. He easily pushed open the door with his foot and entered her bedroom. Crossing the space, he gently laid her on her bed. She was trembling violently now, leading him to believe that moving her combined with her efforts to be put down had caused her fever to skyrocket. He stepped away from the bed to allow her to settle herself, but it appeared the wrong thing to do.

Confused and feverish, she attempted to get back up. He stepped forward quickly to prevent her from doing so.

"Max, Max, I'm so cold," she whispered faintly as a violent chill ripped through her body.

He gently pushed her down so that she was on her back. Turning toward the foot of the bed, he pulled up her thick comforter that normally wasn't needed. He tucked it up to her chin, and she immediately began to pull it more tightly around herself. He busied himself lighting the fire that had gone out at some point in the night. She made a noise and he turned, worried about what could be wrong.

She was only coughing lightly, but he went to her nonetheless. He slid a hand underneath her shoulders and eased her into a sitting position so she could breathe better. As the noise subsided, he eased her back down. She grasped at his hand as he straightened, and her eyes revealed it all. Nervously, but determined to follow orders, he stepped around to the other side of the bed.

He sat and removed his shoes, ever neat even in these kinds of situations. He could feel her watching him, but he continued with what he was doing. After he had removed his shoes and suit jacket, he laid down stiffly by her side. She was drawn to his warmth like a moth to a flame, and promptly curled into his side. It had been nearly twenty-five years since he had laid beside her in her bed, and he found that even though the situation wasn't sexual he was nervous.

She pillowed her head on his chest, and his arm, without his permission, wound it's way around her back. She seemed content at the moment, once again on the verge of sleep. He watched her curiously, watching as chills made their way up her back, causing delicate little waves in the muscles. Even ill she was gorgeous. He could feel the heat she was emitting and wondered how he hadn't noticed anything amiss earlier.

He felt her tense, and she muffled a nearly silent sneeze seconds later. He glanced at the bedside table nearest to him. He was lucky, it was the one with her tissues. He reached over and took one from the box, offering it to her. She took it, and rather than blow her nose dabbed, always the lady.

When she was through with it she simply tossed it over her shoulder and onto the floor. It took everything in him not to immediately get up and properly dispose of it. As if she could understand his thoughts, she tightened her grip.

"Leave it, you can get it later."

Her voice had taken on the raspy quality of one with a cold, and just like everything else about her he adored this, too. She seemed not to notice and simply dropped her head back down, her misery as obvious as the plot in one of her old movies. He pulled her closer, the urge to protect her growing stronger by the minute. She looked at him then, blue eyes glazed from fever and smiled. It had been so long since she had smiled like that, and even longer since it was aimed at him. He would do anything to see it again.

She was seldom the voice of reason anymore, preferring to live in her world of imaginary comebacks and invisible but adoring fans. Perhaps something in his face gave away his worry and made her reach up and lie her overly warm hand on his cheek.

"It's just a cold, Max. I'll be well soon."

She spoke the truth, and it was enough to calm him. Without thinking, he pressed a kiss to her head, tensing as soon as he realized what he had done. Norma simply sighed happily and closed her eyes.

"I miss this," she confessed quietly. "I miss having someone who cares for me so deeply they'd do anything for me. I miss it all." He kept quiet, equally as astounded as he was concerned. "You're the only one left who cares about me, Max. Out of millions, you're the only one."

It had hurt him to think it, but to hear Norma admit out loud what he had hoped to never tell her, it almost crushed him. He didn't reply, both unsure of what to say and afraid he'd say something stupid. She was silent after that, and he supposed it was a good thing, because he needed time to think about what she'd told him. He wasn't sure if he should be happy she still cared for him, sad because he knew she no longer loved him as he loved her, pity her because she finally realized she had been abandoned by Hollywood, or angry that he couldn't do a thing about anything she'd revealed. He was still confused when she woke later in the morning and requested something to eat.

He rose and went down to the massive kitchens to prepare a light breakfast for her. He kept it simple, tea and toast, and carried the tray back up to her room. He caught her in a moment where she wasn't being a lady. Accidentally, he had chosen the moment she was blowing her nose to enter. He said nothing, simply put the tray beside her and left, ignoring the furious blush rushing across her cheeks.

She was quiet for several hours, and when he went to check on her just before lunch, he found her asleep. He removed the tray that held her breakfast, pleased to note she had eaten most of it. She was still shivering, and before he left he added another blanket on top of the one already wrapped around her. It was then he was reminded of the fact that she was sleeping in one of her dresses, unless she had gotten up and changed after he had left her. He knew she would be angry at herself later, but couldn't bring himself to wake her.

Instead he went back downstairs and continued on with his daily chores. He didn't hear from her again until much later in the afternoon, almost sundown. He responded instantly, putting down the duster he had previously been using. She was awake when he entered, of course, but she wasn't sitting up. He went to her side, noticing how she didn't move to face him as she would have normally.

She was paper white, her cheeks an angry red, with sweat gathered on her temples. He didn't need her to speak to know what was wrong. He went into her en-suite quickly, searching for a cloth. He found one, and ran it under cold water. He returned to her side and began bathing her face, the back of her neck, her wrists, any pressure point above her waist.

Hours passed, yet he continued to cool her down. She slipped in and out of consciousness, and once he thought he was going to have to call the doctor. She was on fire physically, yet whenever she would cry out she would complain of being cold. He didn't dare take her temperature, too afraid of the reading to do so. Midnight loomed, and he was almost ready to give in and call the doctor, when something shifted.

Norma visibly relaxed, muscles that had been tensed loosening. He stopped what he was doing, which happened to be bathing her wrists. He brushed his hand across her forehead lightly, and was relieved to find her fever had cooled considerably. It may not have broken yet, (and probably wouldn't for a day or two), but at least she was more comfortable. He sighed in relief, and Norma began to stir.

He froze, hoping she would settle and drift back to sleep. She stretched and blinked up at him. Her eyes were a clearer blue than they had been all day.

"Max? What are you doing here? What time is it?"

Ah, so she didn't remember calling for him.

"You might not remember, but you called for me, Madame. It is after midnight."

"Called for you? Why did I call for you?"

"Several hours ago your temperature climbed quite high. I suppose you woke up and realized it."

She looked away, embarrassed or perhaps just thinking the day through.

"Max, did I...well, did I call out in my sleep?"

"No, Madame."

Norma thought hard for a bit, and then she remembered. It was hazy, and she had to struggle, but the memory was there. She recalled waking up feeling as if she were simultaneously burning and freezing. She had called for Max, and he had come. She remembered how his eyes had widened and how he had rushed into her private bath.

He had returned and pressed something icy cold against her forehead. She remembered hating it at first but being too weak to move. And then it began to feel nice. Her memory blacked out after that, the next memory being one of Max bathing her wrists. There were a few more similar to that, but nothing longer than a few minutes.

"Thank you, Max," she said quietly.

Those few words said so much more than she would admit. He could tell by the way she wouldn't look him in the eye that she didn't want to give away what she was thinking.

"You're welcome, Madame."

He stayed with her that night, per her request, and held her as he had done the night previously. It was so familiar, so comforting to them both to know that they weren't alone in the world as they sometimes believed. Max knew deep down that this time would not be forgotten, as they sometimes tended to do with unpleasant things. No, Norma would remember, and so would he. They would remember all the things both said and unsaid, all the touches, all the emotions, and their lives would never be the same.