The rain poured harshly outside the house that night. It had been raining for most of the day, but in the last hour or so lightning had started to flash and rumbling could be heard off in the distance. The waves were rolling in tall and rough on the shore and the wind blew harshly. They were in for one heck of a storm. Rain was rare in Southern California, but when it rained, it rained hard.

Five members of the house sat around the table in the kitchen, drinking and laughing, blissfully unaware of the sixth sitting just out of sight in the foyer. This sixth member was none other than Mike Warren, head crashed on a pillow and covered lightly in a blanket, staring straight up through the skylight at the brewing storm.

Mike listened to the pitter pat of the beads of water hitting the glass, absently twisting the loose threads of the blanket. He closed his eyes gently as he listened, relishing the relief it brought his aching head. He'd been feeling off all day, his stomach turning and his nose running. He knew he was probably getting sick, but he hoped that if he just ignored it, it would go away. No such luck. Instead, it was sucking his appetite, focus, and energy.

Mike had decided he should tell someone he felt awful and come downstairs for a little while, but hearing their laughter had anchored him to this spot in the foyer and he'd cuddled up right in the middle of the floor to watch the rain. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb their fun. Besides, he was good at self seclusion. He groaned as his stomach twisted, clenching his closed eyes and curling in on himself. Mike clutched his stomach as he rode out the wave of nausea. The world seemed to tilt all around him. When it passed, Mike reopened his eyes and sat up slowly.

Deciding he didn't care if he interrupted his roommates, Mike pulled himself up off of the floor and gathered his blanket and pillow. He wanted comfort, and he'd gladly take whatever they would offer. He shuffled slowly through the living room, depositing his things on the couch before moving into the kitchen. The five of them were finishing a round of euchre when he walked in, Paige and Paul with seven points and Johnny and Dale with six. Charlie was sitting next to Paul, watching the resident cheater for potential renege or stealing the deal.

Since Charlie wasn't actually playing, Mike gravitated towards her. Gently sitting himself down next to her on the bench seat, he pulled his moccasin-clad feet up to rest on the edge and leaned his head on her shoulder. Charlie was surprised at Mike's sudden presence—she hadn't seen him since that morning—but welcomed him nonetheless, mumbling a greeting and rubbing a hand over his knee. Mike moaned a little in response, pulling his knees as tightly to himself as he could as a pang of nausea rolled through his aching frame.

Seeing her housemate's apparent distress, Charlie shot him a concerned glance. Mike didn't seem to notice, though, content with resting on her shoulder and trying his best not to move.

"You okay, Mikey?" Charlie felt the words pass her lips as she took notice of his flushed cheeks and the slight sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. When the younger just proceeded to shake his head gently and clench his eyes shut, she started to really worry.

"Don't feel good," Mike mumbled lowly into her neck as he tried to snuggle closer to her. She was warm and he was not. Charlie sighed at this, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. Mike shivered through his hoodie and track pants, still cold despite the fact that it was nearly eighty degrees outside.

At this, the others turned their attention towards their seemingly ill roommate. Mike noticed their eyes on him, but offered little explanation to their questioning gazes, instead opting to cuddle further into Charlie.

"You don't feel well? What's wrong?" Paige asked from the end of the table, reaching over to place a hand on Mike's clammy forehead. "You're a little warm."

"Stomach hurts. Headache," Mike sniffled, trying not to lose it because he just hurt so much. "Feel awful."

"You sound awful, too. Is your throat sore?" Briggs asked, voice laced with unease. When Mike just nodded, Briggs sighed and stood up from the table. Paul walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled out the appropriate pills which Mike dry-swallowed when he returned with them.

Charlie pushed a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes out of his face, taking in his ashen pallor and fever bright eyes. He looked terrible. "How long have you been feeling sick?" She asked as she studied his ailing form.

"Since last night," Mike admitted, accepting the thermometer that Paul pressed to his lips. It beeped after a moment and Charlie read the number to him. She knew that 100.7 was nothing to worry too much about, but she still felt a pang of concern for her youngest roommate. The kid wasn't technically her responsibility, but hell, sometimes it felt that way. The agents in Graceland were her family and she would always feel responsible.

Paul hoisted Mike up out of his seat next to Charlie and helped him walk into the living room, laying him down lightly on the couch. Mike curled up into a ball as Johnny spread a light blanket over him. He clenched his eyes tightly as the world swam in and out of focus.

"Here's this if you need it," Paul supplied as he set a trash can on the floor by Mike's head. Mike cracked an eye open to look at the proffered object before lightly nodding and turning onto his back. Chances were good he'd need it within the hour, at this rate.

Paige sat down in a chair kitty corner from her roommate, turning the TV on low volume to Mike's favorite channel. It was going to be a long day.