Twilight stayed in her room for the longest time. She didn't get to go see Abel, but she had resolved not to tell him about Isaak. At least, not yet; not after what Isaak was planning to do. He wasn't completely stalking her… just one instance of following her and tricking her cell number out of Casan. Until he actually came and tried to forcibly drag her to Madrid, telling anyone, especially Abel, was out of the question entirely. She knew how much of a big brother complex he had; he would go Crusnik and kill people if he found out about Isaak. Even though Hugue suspected something, he wouldn't tell Abel. He was smart; he'd keep his mouth shut. He knew what was good for him; she didn't want to have to restrain him. She hadn't meant to tell Hugue who had called her; it just sort of happened. He didn't know who the hell Isaak was; the name meant nothing to him. But, still, it wasn't like he was stupid. He may not know what it means, she thought, sitting up, but he knows it means something.

She was still clutching the handkerchief that Hugue had given her, and she noticed that it was all bloody. But it didn't smell like the artificial blood; it smelled real. And besides that, she hadn't been holding it to her face but once. She searched for where she was bleeding from. She saw that it was coming from under her nails - claws. She'd been hitting Hugue and raking at the carpet so hard that she'd made her fingers bleed.

She started to cry anew. You had to be hurting someone pretty bad to hurt yourself doing it. She brought the crimson-stained cloth up to her face, pressing it against her eyes as she strained with her tears and a feeling of bloodlust. There was probably a little of Hugue's blood on it, as well. She had hurt him, and what was worse was that she'd wanted to. When she'd found out he knew she was talking to Isaak - and that he'd been listening to her speak to him - she wanted to punch him in the face.

She didn't blame Hugue for hating her.

After a few minutes, she got up, running the handkerchief over her eyes again. She opened the door, and crept over to Hugue's room. She was glad to find the door unlocked, and tiptoed in. "Father Hugue?"

She saw that he was sleeping quite soundly. She walked over carefully, and looked at his slumbering face. It was the face of an angel. His lashes were considerably full, but not overly so. His long, golden hair, falling over his face, the string gone, allowing the locks to splay over the pillow and under him. And he still had his shirt off, his muscular chest rising and falling in medium rhythm as he breathed while he slept.

Twilight leaned down, and brushed noses with him. She softly kissed his cheek, more tears threatening. "I'm sorry, Hugue."


Twilight woke up about an hour later to someone knocking on her door. It was probably Abel, telling her they were in Greece so they could get off the damned boat. She stood up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and opened the door. "Father Abel, I - oh, dear God!"

It wasn't Abel; it was Hugue. He looked positively ill. His face was pale, and sweat dripped down his face, sticking his bangs to his forehead in places. He was half to his knees, pressing an arm to his stomach. He looked up. "Twilight?"

She could see that there were still bruises on his chest, but that wasn't where he was holding. "Father Hugue, what's the matter? You're obviously not alright…"

He slumped against the doorframe, coughing. "I just threw up. I'm an idiot. I assumed I wasn't affected by seasickness… oh." His eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth "Can I use your bathroom?" he asked quickly, already headed in.

"Go," she answered, moving for him.

She followed him as he ran into the bathroom. He barely made it there to toss the seat up before he was sick again. Dropping to his knees, he draped his arm over one side of the toilet, resting his head on it, coughing and panting. He moaned, closing his eyes.

Twilight didn't think she could stand seeing him in pain, but she forced herself to stay in the room with him. No matter how much he insisted he could take care of himself, it was always comforting to have someone with you when you were sick. She wet a cloth and knelt down to him. "It's okay, Father Hugue," she whispered. "I'm here. You'll be alright." She ran it over his lips, cleaning him off. "There we go." She placed that cloth over the sink and wet a new one, with cold water this time. "Now, this isn't going to feel too good to your skin, but it should relax you a little bit." She carefully wiped his face off.

Hugue's body was shaking violently. "Please," he implored her, "stop, please. I'm cold, it's too cold…" He raised his hand, as if to smack her away, but he couldn't find the strength, so his arm just fell limply to his side.

Twilight bit her lip a little. "I'm sorry, Father Hugue. I have to. You're overheating. You aren't running a fever yet, but it could get to that point. I have to keep you cool."

His teeth chattered, and within another minute, he threw up again. He groaned, and Twilight saw tears forming in his eyes. "Can I please have some water?" he begged, sounding absolutely desperate. "My throat hurts…"

She made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, expressing her sympathy and concern for him. "I'm sorry, Father Hugue. I can't give you water."

"Why not?" he half-shouted, wheezing.

"It could trigger an encore - it might make you throw up again." She wiped his mouth before standing up to her full height. "That book said I should give you juice. Could you live with that instead of water?"

He nodded. "Ye-es," he replied, gagging. He retched a few times, but nothing came up. He glanced up. "That's probably a good sign, right?"

She shrugged. As gently as possible, she helped him stand up. "Come on, I'll take you back to your room. I'll get you some juice, and I'll check up on you every ten minutes or so. I think we've only got about an hour left until we're in Greece, so just hold on, Father."

She helped him stagger into his room, and laid him down on the bed. She made sure he was comfortable, and allowed him a light sheet to cover himself with. She brought him a cup of juice, and placed the cool washcloth on his forehead after wiping his face a last time. She put a trash can by his bed, just in case, and left the cloth for his mouth on the bedside table.

Dimming the light, she turned to leave. "I'll keep the door open a bit, okay? Try to get some rest, Father. I'll check on you soon. Goodnight."

She walked out, and went back to her own room. She lie down on the bed, closed her eyes, and soon was asleep herself.