When he was much younger, Ian had suffered a terrible case of the flu. His temperature had been well over one hundred, and it was only later that he learned just how worried his mother had been. But she never showed it. Not to him, anyway. She stayed with him that whole night, caressing his back and his brow whenever he would wake dripping with sweat from a feverish dream. She would smile at him through the darkness, and it made everything alright. She could always make him feel safe like that.
