WELCOME

Lyla did not want to get out of bed.

Unfortunately it wasn't because Chase had tired her out or because she was too comfortable and relaxed. She was lying on her belly with her face buried in a pillow because she didn't feel well, and people kept calling her. . . and she had stayed up late with Chase, so she might have still been a bit tired.

That didn't really justify her laziness, unfortunately. She was too lazy to even adjust the blankets over her once she started to feel too cold. Her back was mostly exposed, as she was very much naked under the parts of the blankets that were covering her, but she couldn't be bothered to pull the blankets up. She was just . . . lying there.

Even when her phone on the side table nearby started to ring, she couldn't be bothered. Her face just burrowed into the pillow beneath it more firmly for a moment, and then she was still again.

Feeling sick was not on the agenda. So, she was in denial, but even denial had her being like this.

The last time she got out of bed, she had ended up sitting in front of the toilet, waiting to vomit and failing to succeed in that. At least if she had actually done that, she might have felt better, but as it was, she wasn't feeling too optimistic about the rest of the day. . .

This whole nurturing bit was new to him. He was used to protecting her, shielding her, but he was just that: a shield. Chase Robinson was no healer.

Already he'd woken up before her--he usually did, not sleeping for long anyway--and started his own day. Or, had put on shorts, at least, and drank a pot of coffee. She'd just been left behind, and he'd just watched her with distant curiosity as she hunched over the toilet. Whatever she had, he was certain he'd be getting it too, with all the proximity and fluid exchange and the same diet.

Aside from feeling a little jittery from several cups of coffee on an empty stomach, he didn't feel ill. She was kind of ruining her own vacation and he was helpless to do anything about it besides setting up a box of crackers beside the bed.

Now he was again standing, having strolled in after her phone rang for the millionth time, to stop and stare at her from the side of the bed. He scanned the smooth plain of her exposed back as he asked after her, "Tired?"

"Mmm," was her only response at first.

She supposed, upon considering it, that he should have been understanding when confronted with such a response- or lack thereof, really. He responded to her questions with grunts and hums and non-answers often enough to make it hypocritical of him to protest against her acting that way. Still, she felt a bit bad for being short with him, even though she felt like crap and didn't find it easy to put forth the effort to communicate at the moment.

"Tiredish," she said, the word muffled a bit by the pillow pressed against her lips. "Sick."

Her phone stopped ringing somewhere along the way, but then a beep reminded her of the noise. "Sorry 'bout the phone," she grumbled, pulling a hand out from under a pillow to reach out awkwardly toward the side table. A little waving of her hand showed her where the table was, but then she had to start feeling around for her phone.

Had she not been so lazy that she couldn't bother to open her eyes, she would have seen that the thing was out of her reach while she was lying there flat.

"Time is it?" she asked as her hand slowed in its search.

"Late."

He observed her sympathetically as she searched in vain for her phone. As if bothered by her failure, he crossed the room, picking up her cell and turning it off. There was no checking of who'd been calling. He didn't want to know.

Looking down at her, still cushioned pitifully on the bed. Wondering what he should do, he tried to imagine what she would do with their roles reversed. He remembered the times he'd visited her home in the dead of night just to weep or rest, and how she more than welcomed him in her arms and soothed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, Chase smoothed a hand over her shoulders before bowing his head to kiss the ghosts of her London bruises. Finding her skin chilled, he pulled a sheet further up over her.

"Do you want to go home?"

A tired smile flickered across her face when she felt the bed sink, and Chase's hand on her, and his kiss. There wasn't much to see, though. Most of her face was covered by a pillow, and most of what was left uncovered by that was covered by her hair. Chase's touch had her realizing just how cold she was, so she considered moving, but before she could get past preparing herself to do that, she felt a sheet sliding up over her back.

In response to the question, Lyla just hummed, "Mm-mm." Then she took a deep breath, shifting a little and getting the arm she now had hanging over the edge of the bed under a pillow. "No," she clarified. "Felt a little sick yesterday, too, but it went away. Waiting for this to go away . . ."

A little more shifting had her turning a bit and curling up until she could look up and see Chase. . . well, almost. She had to pull one hand out from under her pillow to push some hair away from her face. Then she could see him.

"'M okay," she said, smiling a little to emphasize the point. "I just hope I didn't give you the flu or something."

They had been a little close in the past few days, after all. She'd feel terrible if her miniature illness turned out to be something worse for him.

"I don't get sick." Despite having just been worried about that very thing, he sounded offended by the suggestion she might infect him. His proud, hearty Robinson genes encoded with an impenetrable immune system.

As if to prove his point, he grabbed a book he'd taken along from off the top of his duffel bag and circled around the bed, flopping down beside her. Immediately he thumbed open to the dogeared page, with a short command, "Don't be sick anymore."

Lyla considered telling him not to stay close just in case, but the she realized that her willpower wasn't that great. She liked having him nearby, even if he wasn't touching her or paying much attention to her. So, she didn't mention it.

When he told her not to be sick anymore, however, she spoke up. "'M trying," she grumbled, closing her eyes and grabbing one of the pillows nearby, tugging on it until it was in the desired position. She wrapped her arms around the thing, clutching it to her belly, before saying, "I'll be better in a few minutes. I'll get up n' shower. . ."

Maybe that was true. She'd get up, shower, and then she'd feel better. Then they could go do something, maybe-- make sure the day wasn't totally wasted.

From the corner of his eye he saw her hug her pillow, and then he really looked. Recognition flashed over his face, and memory. He wanted to turn over and hold her, but would feel awkward in doing so as he'd just laid down and took up his book. Chase stayed still, and his eyes moved back to the page.

His mind wasn't on the story, though. Some thoughts still lingered on her, as revealed with a quiet, distant question. "Can I do something?"

"Mm-mm," Lyla hummed again. "I'm just gonna wait a few more minutes then take a shower, n' I'm sure I'll feel better after that."

Sort of sure.

"We'll go do something fun after I shower. . . go out to eat maybe."

And she'd eat something bland and boring out of paranoia. . .

She clutched the pillow against her more firmly as she added quietly, "Sorry I've been no fun all day."

The day kind of had sucked with her in bed the entire time. If he was home things would be different, but he was in a foreign country. There was plenty to do, of course, but he didn't feel right doing it without Lyla. So he'd read, and he'd cleaned his guns, and sighed at the thought of her still curled up in the sheets.

Feeling guilt over his ill thoughts toward her, compounded by her apology, he shifted one hand from his book onto her. Thoughtless, his palm traveled down her side to rest on her rear, with his eyes still glued onto the page of his book.

"We can stay in," he assured her. If she wasn't feeling well then he would feel guilty about dragging her around for sightseeing. "Or get medicine." He hadn't even considered if there was anything to settle her stomach here.

Another deep breath and a light sigh. "You'll be so bored if we don't do something," she said quietly, knowing that was the truth. "N' I don't wanna waste a whole day."

She really didn't. . .

So, a few seconds later, she began to shift again. Slowly, her arms began to unwrap, releasing the pillow she had been nearly crushing against her. Her legs moved, inching toward the edge of the bed, and her one of her hands pushed against the mattress.

"I'll go shower now," she muttered before she even opened her eyes.

Just as he was about to tell her to wait, he turned and looked to see that she hadn't even opened her eyes yet. His hand shifted off her, only to brace against the bed so he could lean over and kiss her cheek. That seemed like a good thing to do--she liked him being affectionate and if he couldn't help with her being sick, he wanted her to be happy.

"I'd be fine," he replied, his tone clear that he wasn't heartbroken either way.Then he sat up, because she was naked and sick and heading to the shower, and he really shouldn't be keeping her in bed with all the affection.

Then a pause, and because he could now, "I love you."

Lyla was about to push herself up- she really was- when Chase kissed her cheek. For a second then she just relaxed, enjoying the soft press of his lips against her. He pulled away soon, though- to let her up, she assumed- once he insisted that he'd be fine if she decided to lie around all day. After a short pause, she forced herself to slide her feet over the edge of the bed and set them down on the floor while her hands pushed her upper body off the mattress.

He was telling her that he loved her.

After having had some time to think about this whole love thing, Lyla had found that she didn't really understand where it had come from or how things had gotten from an uneasy plane ride to waking up in bed with Chase in New Zealand, accepting soft kisses and kindness. This wasn't greeted with the usual frustration Lyla had a habit of adopting whenever she couldn't comprehend a concept, but it was still rather mysterious to her.

Yet she didn't ask why. She didn't proceed to interrogate him. Instead she looked over her shoulder as she rubbed one eye, smiled a little, and said somewhat sleepily, "I love you, too."

With that said, she slowly pushed herself up onto her feet and semi-shuffled to the bathroom, apparently not bothered by the fact that she was naked as she did so. . . even though she was suddenly very cold. Still smart enough to recognize what a good order to things would be, she went straight to the shower, walked into the glass box of it, and turned it on to get it started on warming up-- without bothering to close the bathroom door. Then she walked out and found herself a fluffy, white towel, which she hung on the shower's door handle before stepping inside and extending a hand to the water falling down from the shower head above.

It would warm up soon enough, but she wasn't going to step under it just yet. Instead she'd just stand there and wait, closing her eyes and trying not to feel like she was going to have to head back to the toilet. Thankfully, as the water started to warm up, she started to believe a nice, hot shower would get her back on track, feeling good.

The longer he watched her move away, the more tempted he became to chase her down. Soon enough she'd disappeared into the bathroom. The fauvet turned on. His opportunity slipped away from him.

With a sigh of resignation, Chase put down his book and rubbed his chin. He'd shave, that would give him as much excuse as he needed to get her in his sights again.

His bare feet padded into the bathroom, and he looked her over up and down standing outside the shower. He didnt linger on the view long, but turned to the sink to turn it on to steaming and set about to rub shaving cream over his face.

Sounding decided, he voiced his command just as the razor sought out the best mode of attack, "We will get you something from the drug store."

Lyla glanced at Chase briefly, when she caught the sight of him out of the corner of her eye, but soon she was closing her eyes and stepping under the water falling down before her. The water, warm then suddenly rather hot, soaked her hair almost instantly. She tilted her head back to feel it on her face, reaching her hands up to push her now-heavy hair back.

She still felt sick.

Sighing lightly, she wiped some water away from her eyes, then opened them, lowering her chin and letting the water rain down around her. It did feel good. She just wanted it to feel better.

Chase's idea was probably more likely to work for her. She couldn't exactly argue against it. So, she just said, "Okay," loud enough to be heard through the glass.

Then she went about finding her shampoo. After pouring a bit into her hand, she got to working it in, quickly creating a bunch of white suds on top of her black hair at the water's edge. The smell was nice, but not really nice enough.

She was feeling better, though . . .