In the bathroom I notice a glass. What on earth is a glass doing in the bathroom? I pick it up and sniff it, and there is a whiff of citrus, mixed with a medicinal smell. The inside is filmed, and there is a tiny drift of packed powder in the bottom. I check the wastebasket, and my hunch is confirmed. Alka-Seltzer Plus. She took a cold medicine before going to bed.

She's asleep, and I pause outside her door, listening. There is quiet, then a rustle. A cough. I open the door.

She's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. She looks tired, and I get the impression that she wasn't sleeping, not any time lately. She coughs again.

"Free, you all right?"

She sits up, rubbing a hand across her face. "Oh, not too bad. Caught a cold, I guess. It snuck up on me a little while after you left last night, but I dosed it. I'll just get some of that decongestant cough syrup I saw in the bathroom, if you don't mind..."

"Stay there." I get the bottle, and a spoon, and bring it to her. When she reaches for it, I hold it away. "You'll spill it. Just relax." I pour a dose into the spoon and hold it to her lips.

She engulfs the spoon like a child, instead of trying to sip from it. She winces as she swallows, face screwing up with a shudder. "Eeww, that stuff is nasty! All those millions for research, and you'd think they'd come up with something a little more pleasant." I'm pouring another dose, and she says, "Oh, no, Dana, really. I'm sure that was enough."

"Recommended dosage is two, kiddo. Open up." She bites her lip, eyeing first the spoon, then me. "Free, who's the doctor here?" Reluctantly she opens her mouth, and I insert the spoon. She doesn't try to take it this time, just sitting there with the spoon resting on her tongue, so I tip it and spill it out. She jerks, almost biting the spoon, then forces herself to swallow, wincing.

I screw the cap on the bottle. "Do you have a sore throat?"

"A little."

"Did you take a flue shot?"

"No."

"Free..."

"They charge for them, okay? I've always done all right before."

"But in your job, the number of people you're exposed to every day, it should be manditory."

"Well, it's not. You'd better get to work, you'll be late."

"All right. Look, drink a lot of fluids, and I don't mean sodas. I have a half gallon of orange juice in the fridge, and I want to see most of it gone when I get home. Just eat something light for lunch: soup. I wouldn't even advise crackers or toast right now, and rest as much as possible."

"You know, if my mom fussed over me half this much... I don't know. I'd have either left sooner, or still be there." She lies back down. She's staring at the ceiling again when I leave.

Fox and I are interviewing witnesses to a spontaneous combustion. The woman burst into flames at a pool party. You'd think... the pool's right there, roll her in, everything's fine. And they had. But she'd gone on burning underwater.

We're getting the same story, over and over again. Most of them noticed a peculiar odor, like insulation burning. The woman started to complain. The woman started to scream. She'd been drinking a lot, was in fact an alcoholic. It wasn't the first time she'd caused a scene at a gathering. Then a lot of the witnesses noticed the odor of hot bacon grease, and the woman's skin had seemed shiny... Little flames were licking all over her body, then she went up like a torch...

Normally, I'd have been fascinated. Fox was. He was busily digging away at witness statements, asking all the right questions. Was she smoking, was anyone near her smoking, any chance of a stray spark from the barbeque...?

I took a moment to call Free. The phone rang for a long time. I was about to give up, considering running home to check on her, when the receiver lifted. I heard raspy breathing, "Scully residence."

"Hello, Free. You live there too, you know."

"No one ever calls me, Dana, except to come in to work early."

"How are you?" There's a rattling cough. "Take another dose of cough syrup, it's time."

"I already did. It should work in a little while. What's up?"

"Just checking on you."

"I'm okay."

"You don't sound okay." Her voice is thicker, lifeless.

"Thank you. I'm just tired. A little sleep would help. The damn insomnia is back."

"Look in my nightstand. There's a little brown bottle of blue capsules. Take one of those. Just one."

"Maybe. Thanks, Dana. I wanna go lay back down. Don't worry, it's just a cold."

"I'll bring some more medicine when I come home."

"If you wanna. I'll be okay. Bye."

She hangs up, and I stare at the phone, then shut it off.

I want to go back and check on her, but I need to do the autopsy right away. Not that it can tell me much. There isn't a whole hell of a lot left of the woman, just a few chunks of carbonized bone. We're having the pool drained, and I'll inspect what gets caught in the filter later. Still, I examine what is left, eleminate some possibilities. It doesn't look like an alcohol fueled fire, no matter what the local cops and 911 technicians and party goers seem to think.

I scrub hard before I leave the autopsy room. The burn smell seems to be able to make its way even through the latex gloves. I stop to get supplies before I go home--juice, soup, cough drops, tissues, a new thermometer... Fox bit through my old one during some godawful episode that I don't want to remember. I get a perscription for strong antihistimines, and a codeine based cough syrup, because the over-the-counter brand didn't seem to be doing much good. Just in case, I get a syringe of B12, to boost her system. It may not be easy to get her to let me administer it. She's turning out to be a stubborn patient. Not nasty, or aggressive, just balky.

I'm a little late getting home. She's on the couch, dressed a little sloppily, barefooted, staring at the tv with her mouth a little open. "Hi Dana." She sounds listless. "Sorry, I didn't cook. I'd've probably made you sick, too." And now I know why she was catching flies. She sounds very clogged.

"What are you doing up? If you wanted to watch tv, why didn't you haul your pillows and cover in here and lie down on the couch."

"Too much trouble."

I go to put away the supplies. The orange juice looks untouched. I frown, check the wastebasket. It is pristine, as I left it. So no soup, either. I check the bread, the lunchmeat, the fruit. Nothing looks like it was touched.

I go back in the living room. "Free, what kind of soup did you have for lunch?"

She blinks slowly. "Uh, I can't remember. Noodle, I think."

"What else?"

She shrugs. "Some crackers? And a banana... I think. And some orange juice. You told me to drink juice, right?"

"But you didn't."

She tries to look indignant. "I did so." I stare at her. She wilts a little. "I had a few swallows. But I felt like I was gonna bring it back up, so I stopped."

"And you didn't have any soup or crackers, either. I've never brought a can of noodle soup into this house. If you'd said chicken and rice, I might have believed you--if there was a can in the trash. And we didn't have any crackers. And there are still two bananas in there. I know because I had one from breakfast." She's blushing. "Free, didn't you eat anything?"

"I'm not hungry." She looks shamefaced. "I'm sorry I lied to you, but I knew you'd be pissed. I figured I'd eat something at work tonight."

"What? You think you're going to work tonight?"

She looks bewildered. "Dana, I have to. I don't have paid sick days, you know that."

"I don't give a damn about that. You're in no shape to work, you need to stay home."

"But I can't." She stands up slowly, wincing. She must be having muscle aches now. "I haven't done a full load of hours this week. They gave me that extra day off so they could train the new clerk. Which means they may cut my hours even further. I can't give them an excuse."

"But Free, you're sick. They can't want you to work while you're ill."

She smiles tiredly. "Don't you have a charitable view of them? They don't give a damn, sweety. As long as I clean up any vomit I put on the floor, and don't gross the customers out too bad." She coughs hard. It's deep, and racking. She puts a hand on the wall for a moment, steadying herself. She pulls an almost empty bottle of cough syrup off the table and swigs directly from the bottle. She only grimaces a little, then smiles at me weakly. "That stuff isn't so terrible after you've had a half pint or so. At least compared to the alternative."

"Free, you can't go to work."

"Don't worry. All I have to do is work the cash register. They'll have the newbie doing all the cleaning. I got them to do that much. They wanted me to do the stocking and cleaning, and let newbie run the register for experience. I told 'em that if I got pneumonia from stocking that cooler, you were instructed to sue their nuts off."

"Well, bully for them, and don't think I wouldn't. But it shouldn't come to that. Just lay down and I'll..."

"Dana, no." Her voice is quiet, but decided. "Now excuse me while I go put on that piece of shit uniform and ready myself for another ten hour stint of slavery."

She moves slowly and painfully. But from her room I hear an old John Denver song. "Heard you had some troubles, thought I'd try to help you. In my time I've had a little trouble, too." It's slow, almost half time, with frequent pauses for phlegmy breaths. "If you let it get you, down you know I bet you. It will get you down and walk around on you." But she's singing. "Sweet misery, she loves her company. She's in a crowd when she is all alone. She doesn't care, follow you everywhere. She is most happy when she makes you moan."

I consider giving the name of her manager and the store owner to a friend at the IRS.

She comes out looking a little more pulled together. As pulled together as anyone can be in that orange monstrosity. She silently goes into the kitchen and returns with the cough drops and tissues. She's quiet in the car, hugging herself, humming the song, occasionally muttering a word.

"What are you going to eat tonight? You'll have a break, with the other one there, won't you?"

"I s'pose." She doesn't sound convinced. "I don't have any cash. Payday in two days." We've pulled up to the store. I open my purse and silently offer her a ten. She stares at it, then frowns at me. "I can't take your money."

I shove the bill into her front pocket. "If you don't eat, you'll faint. You can't starve yourself while you're sick, despite what the nursery rhymes say. You can pay me back later. And drag a stool up behind that cash register. I mean it."

She coughs, unwraps a coughdrop, and pops it. "Yeah, they'll love that." She gets out and starts tiredly for the door. I see her wince at the alarm buzz, and reluctantly drive home to spend a restless, mostly sleepless night. I force myself to stay in bed till after sunrise, then get up, dress, and make coffee.

I wanted to go to the store and pick Free up, but remembered how adamnant she'd been about getting her own way home, not causing any trouble. I drank my coffee and wished that I smoked, waiting. When seven-thirty came and went, I called the store. Free was supposed to get off at seven, she should have been home by now.

The voice was unfamiliar, and answered boredly with the store's name. "I need to speak to Free."

"She's busy at the register. Got a line."

"She was supposed to be off a half hour ago."

I could almost hear the shrug. "New clerk was s'posed to stay over till I could get the paperwork done, but he hauled butt out of here sometimes during the middle of the night. Said he had a cough, and wasn't about to stock the cooler or sweep the lot. Damn good thing I had Free on duty or that shit would have never got done."

"What? You mean to tell me that as sick as she was she went into that cold?"

"She ain't complainin'. Anyway, she's eatin' those coughdrops like popcorn. She'll be okay."

"I want to talk to her right now."

"Like I said, she's busy. Don't worry, roomie. She'll be done in about ten minutes, that is if I get off the phone and finish my paperwork. She already has a cab ordered." She hung up.

I paced. The time for me to leave for the office had come and gone by the time the taxi pulled up and she crawled out of it. I was waiting for her with the door open as she dragged herself slowly up the walk.

"You look like death warmed over." She was as pale as skim milk, except for the dark circles under her eyes. Her beautiful curly hair looked snarled and neglected.

She smiled faintly. "Why, thank you. I love you, too." I flinched at the words, looking at her sharply. But she was unzipping her uniform, oblivious of my reaction. She was just teasing.

She tossed the jacket on the couch, picking the T-shirt she'd worn underneath away from her torso. It looked sweaty. "'Scuse me. Gotta get out of this stuff." She walked back toward her room, beginning to unhook her bra on the way. Now I knew she was sick. She'd always been very carefull about dressing and undressing in private. Damn it.

I checked the front pocket of her jacket for change. There was almost eight dollars. I carried it back to her room. "Free." She was pulling a fresh T-shirt over her head, one of the comfortable, oversized ones. "Free, what did you eat last night?"

She frowned, pushing her pants down and picking up the loose shorts she had waiting. "Some crackers. Some orange juice. Don't fuss at me, Dana. Nothing looked good." She stepped into the shorts, almost overbalancing, sitting on the bed.

"Free." I go and sit beside her on the bed. "You can't do this to yourself. You went into the cooler and out onto the lot last night, didn't you?"

A flush rides up her pale cheeks. "There wasn't anyone else. I had to."

"No, you didn't."

"It's my job, Dana."

"Free, you're more than your job." I touch her, finger combing her hair back from her face. I feel the heat radiating, and lay my hand on her forehead, becoming alarmed. "You're burning up!"

She squinchs her eyes, shivering. "Boy, your hand is cold, Dana. Maybe, a little."

I go and get the thermometer, wipe it with alcohol, and slip it under her tongue. She sits lifelessly, except for ticking the thermometer up and down. When I take it out, it reads 102, not as bad as I feared, but bad enough. "You need to go to the doctor."

"No, I don't. It's just the flu, you know that. I'll take some medicine, I'll stay in bed today." She slides her eyes at me, making a comical face. "I'll drink juice and eat soup. I'll force myself. Okay?"

"I'll stay home and take care of you."

"No you won't. I'll boycot all common sense if you do. Just mix up the soup and leave it in the microwave for me to heat it later. You should be gone by now."

"Not till I get you settled." I go and get the soup ready. leaving it in the microwave in a microwave proof bowl. I bring her two insulated pitchers: one of juice, one of ice water, and glasses. I get some of the antihistimenes down her, a decongestant, and some of the codein laced cough syrup.

"Free, you're off tonight."

She yawns. "T'morrow night for sure."

"No, I spoke to your manager. She didn't tell you before you left?"

"Tell me what?"

"They're switching your schedual so you can recuperate. You don't have to be in till... day after tomorrow."

"Really?" She sounds doubtfull. "I better call and check."

"No. I'll have them call you, so you're sure. I spoke to them as your physician, and they saw the light."

She blinks, obviously having a hard time believing this of her employers. "That would be nice."

"So you can just concentrate on getting well."

"You're gonna be late. Not good when you work for the gov, Dana."

"Just one more thing. I want to give you a B12 shot before I go."

She grimaces. "Oh, well, what's one more ache? Okay."

I go and get the disposable syringe, and the alcohol. She sits up and offeres her arm. "Not there. It'd hurt too much. Your hip. Lie down, that'll make it easier."

She sighs, and kicks off the covers, then rolls over to lie face down, scrunching her pillow under her chin. "Right or left side?"

"Whichever is better."

"Well... I lay more on my right side, so..." She hooks her fingers in the left side of her waisteband and pulls down the shorts and panties, exposing her hip and part of her buttock.

I stare at the pale flesh. I wipe it with alcohol, listening to her mutter about how cold it is. Then I brace my left hand on her hip, framing a small patch of skin, pulling it taut. "This will sting, and ache a little. Try to relax."

She breathes deeply, closing her eyes. "Go ahead, doctor."

For all her stubborness about taking care of herself, she takes a shot well. She doesn't clench up, doesn't flinch away. She breathes deeply, inhaling a bit when the needle peices her skin. She holds still while I make the injection, no movement to interfer. I pull the needle free, moving an alcohol soaked pad onto the tiny hole immediately.

I'd left the cap standing on the nightstand, and I fit the needle back into it one handed, still holding the pad on her shot. I drop the spent, recapped syringe. "How's that?"

"Hurts like hell." she says matter of factly. "Must be good for me, huh?"

I massage the spot, trying to work out some of the soreness. "Does that help?"

"Some." She sounds drowzy. I hope that she'll drift off to sleep right here. As much as I want her to eat, ten or twelve solid hours of sleep would do her a lot more good.

I keep massaging. "Free, this job isn't good for you. I want you to think about quitting it."

She sighs. "Nice dream. But I've talked to you about this, haven't I? Where else would I go?"

I reach up and rub her shoulders, feeling the muscles as tense as mine ever were. "You don't have to go anywhere. I could take care of you."

She rolls her head losely at my touch, eyes closed. "You're doing so much right now. Wouldn't be right for me to ask for any more."

"You don't have to ask, Free. I want to." I stroke the length of her back. " I want to do it all for you. I make enough money, it wouldn't be any sort of burden. That's what you do when you care about someone. You take care of them."

She's very still, her breathing deep and thick. Her head is turned away. "I care about you, Free. I... I love you." She doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. Is she asleep? Did I wait till she was asleep to make my confession?

I move my hands down, and find that I am cupping her ass, smoothing my hands out toward her hips. I gently pull her shorts back up, covering the bruising patch of shin. I whisper, "Free?" She rolls her head to look at me. Her eyes are bleary with weariness and the medicines she's taken. "Free, say something. Please." I'm so afraid.

But she doesn't look shocked, or even surprised. She looks... I'm not sure. At last she says quietly, "I heard you. Dana... Dana, I'm real sick right now. My head isn't working. I can't talk about this. You'd better go on to work."

"You're right. I shouldn't have said anything right now, but...You're not mad, are you?"

"No, I'm not mad. But you need to go to work now."

"All right. You... you be sure to drink all of those liquids, all right? And be careful going to the bathroom. Keep yourself braced at all times. And if you start to get light headed, sit down before you fall down. All right?" I'm babbleing, I know I am. But I have to fill the silence.

She nods solemnly. I leave before I can panic.