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Meg is working very hard at not scratching her chicken pox. Because scratching is bad. Infections. Scars. General unpleasantness.

She will just have to find something else to focus on.

Other than worrying about things at home.

She really should have asked Edward for some books she hasn't already read.

Or crossword puzzles.

Meg surveys her choices again and finally picks Jane of Lantern Hill, then settles back into bed to read.

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"Chapter 8. Really good."

The book is added to the pile on the desk.

The next item to come out is a large tupperware container.

"Luis went on a baking binge yesterday. I have all sorts of cookies."

"Sugar, of course, being vital to the recuperative process."

"Oh, yes," Meg says. "I remember reading that in all the most respected medical journals. Cookies for better health.

"Did anything prompt the baking binge?"

"I don't know. He just takes these fits sometimes. We've tried to tie it to a phase of the moon, but we've never found a pattern."

Parker shakes the box.

"He makes this one called a Mexican Hot Chocolate cookie. It's like a brownie with a kick if cayenne. They're addictive."

She sets the box of cookies aside and comes up with a half-dozen soft-backed book.

"Puzzle books. To keep your brain occupied."

"Sounds interesting," Meg says.

Brownies with cayenne.

"Oh, I'd been thinking I should ask someone to bring me crossword puzzles. Thank you."

"It seemed like they'd be up your alley."

Parker pulls one last basket out of the 'magic' dolley.

"And some odds and ends. Girly stuff, mostly. Some nail polish. Hair ties. This oatmeal lotion stuff that's supposed to keep you from itching."

She grins.

"You know. Necessities."

"So I can paint my ridiculously short nails," Meg says, with a grin.

"Thank you, Parker.

"That's really nice of you."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

Parker settles down on the foot of Meg's bed.

"Want me to hang out for a bit, or do you need to rest?"

"Company would actually be great, if you have time," Meg says.

"I'm doing way too much sitting in here and thinking."

"It's Milliways. I have all the time in multiple universes."

Parker folds up her legs, making herself more comfortable.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Alain, mostly," Meg says. She suspect this will not come as a surprise.

"This is going to be the longest I've gone without seeing him since . . . "

Since she stayed in Milliways with Dean.

" . . . before we got engaged," Meg finishes.

"And I stayed his place right before I wound up here, and I was already contagious and I don't have any idea if he's had chickenpox already or if I've made him sick or what."

Parker smiles sympathetically.

"I bet you miss him."

Especially since your fiance is kind of the sort of person you want around when you're feeling like crap.

Parker pats Meg's foot under the blanket.

"Hey, try not to worry. Time's not passing out there, right? So, you'll go back and ask, and if he hasn't, you'll march him straight to the doctor."

"Yeah, I know. There's just whole lot of wondering and not being able to do anything until then."

Meg looks down at her ring and then back to Parker.

"And I'm pretty sure he's going to hate this."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can see that."

"But maybe he'll just be happy you were here. I mean, this has probably got to beat a hospital."

Meg nods.

"I know. Rationally, I know.

"Rationally, I think he will, too.

"But . . .

"I don't know, Parker."

Parker squeezes Meg's blanket covered toes. A gesture of comfort that she's used to using on the kids she's babysat for, when some trouble was keeping them up past bedtime.

"Well, okay, let's forget rationality for the moment."

"Tell me what you're worried about."

Rationality is a great thing. But sometimes you just have to set it aside and let the irrationality out.

It can be the only think that keeps it from building up.

"I'm going to go home and have to start a conversation with, 'So, while you were away overnight helping your cousin move, I was off at the end of the universe, having a potentially life-threatening illness and recovering from it for two weeks. How was your weekend, honey?'

"I told him I was I fine. Right before he left. He asked and I told him I was fine."

"Well, I'm sure you thought you were. I mean, how many people our age feel a little off and think they're coming down with chicken pox?"

Not many in Parker's experience.

"This was just....a timing thing. Good timing, bad timing, I don't know."

"But, I mean, Alain knows about Milliways. And the accompanying weirdness, right?"

She has no idea how much weirdness might be too much for Alain, though.

"He knows, yes," Meg says. "It's just very different when it's a question of, you know, 'I saw Parker and we talked about the ranch and had coffee' as opposed to . . . this."

"Coming down with and getting treated for a quasi-major illness?"

Chicken pox at seven is one thing. Age does not improve it.

"And then just handing it to him as a fait accompli.

"He won't like it."

"Yeah."

But there's not much to be done about it.

"Maybe...maybe let him fuss over you? Even though you'll be feeling better by then."

It might help.

"Yeah," Meg says. "Maybe.

"Unless, of course, I get home and discover that I've given him chickenpox.

"In which case, I'll be the one doing the fussing."

"There can be mutual fussage."

Which, in Parker's opinion, is the best kind.

"I mean, hey, you're getting married. You'll be able to fuss over each other and drive each other crazy for the next fifty or sixty years."

Plenty of time for them both to get their fussing in.

"We can take it in turns," Meg says.

There's a pause, and then she says, "He keeps asking about the dress."

Parker's eyebrows go up, a la Oh, IS he?

"Trying to get insider information, huh?"