Fever The Alto and the Organist (M/F) - Secret Santa for Hedgehog!! Part 5/5 (Complete 1/9/19)

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Fröhliche Weihnachten Hedgie!!  Guess who your SS is It was a pleasure to write this for you as you've been such a great supporter of my stuff and good friend this past year.  I hope this brings a little joy to your holiday season.  Sorry for the slow start, I am me, much more will come in the second part I promise.  Thanks to @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier for the proof read.  If you want me to add anything @hedgehog please let me know.  Enjoy

 ~~~~

The Alto and the Organist

Part 1 Adagio

Practice for the 5th annual St James Christmas concert was going, shall we say, roughly.  Truth be told, it wasn't going at all; the only sound filling the hallowed sanctuary was idle chatter. Margaret flicked her wrist impatiently checking her watch for probably the tenth time in the past half an hour.  Still no Simon.  Other choir members, seated in the neighboring wooden pews, muttered disdainfully under their breath while casting glares at the front entrance doors. 

Had this been a one-time occurrence there might have been some understanding. However in the 9 months since Simon Crawford’s arrival, choral practice rarely started on time. Perpetually late, the lanky, quiet organist had come from another village in the area after long time and well-loved Abigail Summers’s retirement.

Simon had been recommended by their vicar but Margaret, along with a few other patrons of St James, figured he'd only been doing the organist a favor as their families knew each other.

“We’ll give him another five minutes.” Mary Beth said with a sigh shaking that curly red hair, but she'd been saying that for the past 15 minutes.  Already through their warm up session the choral union simply sat waiting. 

The snow, falling, barely showed through the stain glass windows lining the walls of the stone church.  Margaret had no idea how bad the weather was. Truthfully, it wasn't the snow as only a few inches had been predicted; the temperature drop troubled the townsfolk as Cal Clements the local weatherman hadn't predicted above freezing for several days.  Subzero temps combined with snow and ice, Margaret didn't plan on going anywhere once home.

Just as Mary Beth’s five minutes were up a loud creak sounded followed by a rush of bitter air filling the church as one of the oak doors slide open.  Margaret turned in her seat trying to shield herself from the harsh wind. It definitely felt colder than when she'd arrived.

Simon stumbled in, clutching a folder tightly to his chest.  Sheet music stuck out of the folder as he rushed down the main aisle, wispy ash blond hair, which normally covered his grey blue eyes, flying around.  His red cheeks and nose told Margaret exactly how cold it was.

“Sorry.” He mumbled not making any eye contact as the choral union began rising out of their seats to take their places on the steps in front of the altar.

Grabbing her music, Margaret walked to her position on the last step near the organ where Simon frantically tried getting himself ready.  Shrugging off his long navy coat, arm still clutching the folder as papers fell around him; Simon positioned himself behind the organ.  Quickly he removed his wire frame glasses wiping off the collected moisture on the lens with his shirt ends.  Margaret noticed he didn't remove the grey and black plaid scarf from around his neck.

“Well...” Mary Beth glanced out of the side of her pearl frame glasses at Simon who ducked down, “Shall we begin?  I believe last week we left off working on the finale.”  That meant the Hallelujah Chorus, Margaret already had her copy placed neatly in her folder.  She'd been a part of the St. James Choral Union since before they'd started this particular rendition of the Christmas concert but in the 12 years since joining, Mary Beth always finished with the Hallelujah Chorus.  Most of the members, like Margaret, were veterans as well but their director happened to be a stickler for perfection so even though nearly everyone could perform Handel’s masterpiece in their sleep...practice makes perfect.

Raising her hands Mary Beth held her position letting out a brief sigh as Simon now bent over retrieving the music he'd dropped earlier off the floor.  Cheeks flushed a bit red; Simon muttered another apology while clearing his throat.

Although he lacked punctuality, Simon was a fantastic organist. His slim long fingers glided effortlessly over the tiers of the grand old organ, filling the rafters of St James with beautiful music.  The choir sang once through before Mary Beth concentrated on the tenors who, in her words, sounded a bit flat. 

Margaret arched her back looking up at the old candelabras, now converted to electric, hanging from the curved ceiling.  Pivoting she stretched twisting at the waist turning her gaze to Simon who sat quietly on the bench.  His eyes down, hands folded in his lap, Margaret got the sense he was cold, his posture slightly hunched, arms tightly pulled next to him.  The old church was quite drafty even with the radiator heat, so Margaret understood. 

Simon’s thin hand cupped around his mouth a dry short cough sounded. He pulled his scarf tightly up around his neck before letting out a tired sigh. 

Mary Beth called for all sections to start again on page 3; Margaret cast one last look at Simon who drew himself up placing his hands. On the director's cue he started and the choral union joined.

****

Even with the late start, thanks to Simon, practice ended at 8pm sharp since that's when the heat turned off for the night.  A few times Mary Beth had pushed practice later but chattering teeth never made Joy To The World particularly memorable.

“I know everyone is anxious to leave but since Thursday's practice is dress rehearsal I'd like everyone to quickly run downstairs to grab their concert robes.” Mary Beth said cheerfully over the chorus of groans. No one cared for the bright fire engine red with gold trim robes worn specifically for any holiday events. The rather cheap polyester garments itched exposed skin so most of the union had gotten into the habit of wearing long sleeves under them. 

Margaret exited to the right hallway behind the organ, following several others down the staircase to the basement area.  A small hall opened to a kitchenette and sitting area featuring a hideous flower pattern couch and old wooden mismatch chairs. Continuing further led to storage, extras chairs, tables, decorations, and of course, choir robes.

“One day I wish to start a fundraiser, call it St. James Choral Union's Help Us Get Out of the 70s fund and purchase new robes.” David Green huffed while pulling out one. “Just ghastly.”

Margaret chuckled to herself while other members piped in their support.  Being rather tall for a female, one put her in the back row and two made finding a well-fitted robe difficult.  Margaret always tried to mark whatever one she'd worn the year before.  Sadly given there was a bit of a line crowding and this year welcomed a few tall gentlemen to the group, her hope of getting any robe which at least touched her ankles was growing slim.

Three tries later, she found one that didn't look like it was two sizes too small.  Walking back to the dimly lit stairs, she cupped her hand on the rail climbing back to the main floor.  Margaret bid goodbye to a few members before walking back into the sanctuary grabbing her coat, which sat on the pew.  Throwing it onto her shoulders the sound of paper rustling caught her attention.  

There sat Simon still behind the organ, an intense focus on his pale face as he pantomimed playing.  Margaret stared not realizing she'd taken several steps forward. Even if no music sounded the mere waving of hands and fingers across the numerous keys, Simon commanded Margaret’s attention. His stormy blue eyes closed but his mouth moved as if he silently spoke what cords whirled about in his mind.  Such smooth movements gave him the aura of a painter expressing their art on canvas.  Setting her robe down, the alto’s focus rested on the organist.

Simon swayed bringing his hands up as if the crescendo of his performance hinged on the final cord. As Margaret watched suddenly his arms dejectedly fell by his sides, a defeated sigh escaped him.

“No no, not right at all.” He whispered cupping his head with his palm. 

“I bet it sounds lovely.” Margaret decided there wasn’t any way for her to quietly sneak away given her proximity to the organist.

Simon exhaled a brief cough raising his head wearily off his hand.  “You’re too kind.”  Turning he squinted through his glasses, “Margaret right?  Alto, mezzo alto, 3rd row normally.  You sang He Shall Feed His Flock at the Easter concert.” 

His analysis shocked her slightly as Margaret barely uttered two words to the organist since he arrived at St. James.  “You’re correct.”  She smiled though noticing now that he'd looked at him grey circles lined his eyes. Margaret guessed he hadn't slept well.

“Sorry about being late.” Simon hunched forward looking at his hands again.

Margaret waved him off, “Oh don’t worry.” Something about his tone didn’t sit right with her, as if he wasn’t just apologizing for tonight but for single time in his life.  “Are you composing a piece?” Curiosity got the better of her.

Simon’s eyes slid to her though his head remained down.  “Yes.” Even given the acoustics in the church Margaret needed to strain to hear him.  A few silent moments continued before Margaret realized the organist was not going to indulge her anymore. 

“Well...” The alto began buttoning her coat, “Have a good night, good luck.”  Smiling she finally caught the hint of a grin from Simon’s face as he nodded.  Walking down the main aisle a thought popped into her mind, “Don’t stay too late, remember the heater turns off.”  She called looking over her shoulder but Simon likely didn’t hear, his hands once again silently performing.

The parking lot was empty, minus Simon’s old white Buick sitting in the far space.  Living less than a block away, Margaret regretted her earlier decision to walk as the wind blew her brown hair across her face.  Thankfully no snow fell however icy spots littered the sidewalk, Margaret cautiously held out one arm as if tightrope walking.  She’d fallen on a patch of ice a few years back, a broken foot was not something she wished for Christmas.

Opening the main door to the flat, stomping the slush from her boots, it dawned on Margaret she’d forgotten her damn concert robe at the church.  Groaning as she marched to the second floor, Handel himself couldn’t drag her back outside

****

Cal hadn't lied; the temperature plunged that night sending all of Gilchrist into a deep freeze.  Margaret’s breath was showing through her chattering teeth as she fought the bitter air walking back to St. James.

At least the sun was out; not that it helped.  Rounding the corner the heavenly aroma of coffee filled the air as the alto passed Virgo Coffee.  Margaret debated on stopping for a quick warm up however decided to skip it for now.

Hiking the collar of her cream colored peacoat closer to her face; the doors of St. James appeared.  Sticking her hands in the pockets she broke into a brisk run passing through the iron gates entering the grounds of the church.  Nearly to the door something caught her eye.  Simon’s late model white Buick still sat where she'd seen it last night.  A layer of ice covered all the windows, the snow surrounding the car disturbed with footprints but there was no sign of the organist.

Slowing her pace Margaret studied the car another moment before a rush of cold air forced her inside.  Even after the massive door shut, the church offered little comfort.  No heating since the vicar only turned it on when needed.  Margaret’s breath escaped as she hurried down the main aisle hoping her robe remained where she'd left it.

Wait, where had she left it? Margaret closed her brown eyes scrunching her face hoping to trigger the last memory of that hideous robe.  Downstairs, finding one, Simon...Simon playing...she must have set it down near the organ.  Walking up to the altar she arched her head around hoping to see it; it's not like fire engine red could hide easily.

Frowning in a huff Margaret did not see it.  Running a hand through her hair messing it slightly as it fell around her shoulders, a chill went down her spine as the thought of the cold basement filled her. Mary Beth would have a field day if she showed up Thursday without it so biting her lip, the alto headed for the basement stairs.

Flipping the ancient switch the lights flickered momentarily before humming to life. Not that it made much difference; Margaret could barely see three feet in front of her. Thankfully the hallway ended at the storage closet.

Passing the seating area Margaret subtlety glanced over at the hideous orange and yellow couch, as one could rarely walk by without those awful 1970s patterned flowers screaming at you. However this time she did a double take upon seeing the couch.

A dark navy coat lay over it, blond hair messily protruded from the top. It took Margaret a split second to realize it was Simon.

The organist’s shivering frame, balled catlike under the coat, failed to notice her.  Swallowing hard the alto debated on speaking, not wanting to startle the poor man. Before any words escaped her Simon’s body shook with a dry short cough.  Another harder longer one followed, raspy sounding as it scraped his throat.  A low moan croaked from beneath the coat, thin fingers emerged grasping the lapels pulling them tighter.

“Simon?” His name nearly caught in her own throat as she knelt beside him.

“Mmm?” Simon’s head emerged from beneath, eyes squinting even in the low light.  One stormy blue eventually opened while a hand massaged his forehead.  “Yes?” He said hoarsely.

Margaret got the impression the organist was not aware of his surroundings.  “Simon, it's Margaret.” Gently she laid her hand on his shoulder.  “What are you doing here?”

Squeezing his eyes closed Simon arched his neck stretching towards the alto. Mouth moving yet no words formed he swallowed wincing in pain. “What do y-y...” His voice cut out with his body clenching as he cough harshly in the floral couch. “Ow.” He whispered rubbing his throat.

“Here sit up.” Margaret slid her hand under Simon’s side slowly helping him up, his wispy hair falling in his eyes.

The organist pulled his navy coat closer around his frame swaying slightly.  Once again he rested his pale face in a hand sighing wearily.  “You don't have an aspirin do you?”

Margaret shook her head, “Sorry.” She apologized starting to feel bad for the man who clearly spent the night in the cold basement. “I'll check the kitchenette.”  Rising she walked over to the cabinets.

“Thank you.” Simon barely got the words out forcing him to clear his throat again. 

Searching the dated paneled wood cabinets, she found stacks of Styrofoam plates, plastic utensils, and canned goods from previous church luncheons but sadly Margaret did not find any medicine.

Another dry cough sounded from Simon who was bent over covering his mouth with his coat.  Margaret returned sitting next to him on the couch which was far from comfortable.  “I didn’t see any.”

Simon shrugged dismissively masking another raspy long cough in his fist.  “My luck.” His voice cracked. Suddenly his posture stiffened head turning side to side finally taking in his surroundings.  “Oh right.” He slumped forward massaging his temples.

Margaret bit her bottom lip debating whether or not to inquire about his situation, Simon definitely never gave up information easily.

“I've got aspirin at my flat; I live less than a block away.” Really she didn't want to venture back outside after returning home but Simon’s disheveled appearance got the better of her.  “With your car...”

“Battery died.” He cut her off.

Well that answered several questions. “Oh.” Margaret looked at the worn linoleum tile, folding her hands together.

Simon glanced over, pushing his hair from his face. “Sorry, you're being nice and I'm exhausted.” He whispered placing his wire glasses back on his nose. “What time is it?” 

Margaret flicked her watch. “A little after nine.”

Simon whipped his head at her; his mouth fell open as he gawked. “Nine? AM?” The organist grabbed his hair groaning audibly. “Great just great. My luck.” Bending forward he leaned onto his knees, hands running from his hair to the nape of the neck.  Gripping the muscles he rubbed the base of his neck and shoulders.

Beyond confused Margaret cleared her throat.  Simon sat back up pulling his coat on. “I'm late, of course.” Pushing up from the couch, Simon hadn't taken more than two steps before faltering.  Jumping up Margaret grabbed the organist around the waist, trying her best to stabilize him.

“Hold on you're in no condition to go anywhere except bed.” Margaret swiftly ushered Simon to a chair but the ash blond shook his head.

“No you don't under...” Simon bent over coughing roughly into his sleeve. “I have...work...it’s not…right...” Another cough racked his body, he gasped for breath in the freezing basement.

Margaret felt a jolt of pain in her chest, Simon willing to bypass his health for whatever reason must be important to him.  However he was in no state to work. “Here.” She said quietly resting a hand on his arm squeezing gently. “Let's get you aspirin first, and then you can concentrate on work.”

Simon’s grey blue eyes peeked through his stringy hair at her, the bags she'd noticed last night darker. “You live close?” His voice sounding like boots walking on gravel.

The alto smiled, “Five minutes, let's go.” Helping Simon back up, the two slowly made their way up the stairs and out of St. James towards Margaret’s flat.

TBC

[Hedgehog]

Kaze!!!

My reaction when I saw you were my Secret Santa…          I don’t know how I deserve it. I… am… speechless…

And that story is sooo… sooo... sooooooooooooooooooooo great! Gosh, I don’t know where to start…

A church choir 

A strong, adult woman 

A very talented, cute organist with beautiful eyes 

Händel!!! 

Dear Kaze – did you secretly dive into my mind to fulfill all my wishes? 

Then all those wonderful details – about how the church looks like, the weather and the freezing cold, the story about the very old concert robes in “fire engine red”.   Laughed so hard at this sentence:

Quote

“One day I wish to start a fundraiser, call it St. James Choral Union's Help Us Get Out of the 70s fund and purchase new robes.” David Green huffed while pulling out one. “Just ghastly.”

And then, our poor freezing genius had to spend the whole night in this ice-cold church! Oh no, poor Simon! (I also like the names!) and Margaret being there to his rescue – all concerned and caring. 

You really know how to make it right, Kaze – to make everything right! To make me feel all honored and happy and filled with joy (just hours after the horrible events in Berlin…).

Can’t wait for the next part. And still – I would wait for weeks, months, even years to read it.

THANK YOU!  

[Dusty15]

Oooh this is lovely and fun so far! I'll be eager to read more when it comes

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

@hedgehog awww thanks Hedgie   I'm so thrilled you like it, I have to say I'm mildly crushing on Simon currently

@Dusty15 Thank you!

Ok next part, this one is shorter than the previous, sorry. 

~~~~

Part 2 Moderto

Simon plopped down in Margaret’s tan armchair near the window once again resting his head in hands.  Neither had spoken much since the church basement, talking required energy and both conserved it walking to the flat. 

Margaret went straight for her medicine cabinet grabbing a bottle of aspirin. With a glass of water she held the pills out for Simon who managed a half-hearted smile.

“Want some tea?” Margaret offered hanging her coat on the wall hook; Simon hadn't removed his yet.

“No.” The organist croaked out rubbing his forehead. Whether he was being polite or not Margaret couldn't ignore how hoarse Simon’s voice was, so she decided to brew some for herself and simply make a little extra.

A raspy cough escaped her guest while the kettle came to a boil. Simon pulled his phone from his coat. “Excuse me a moment.” He rose off the chair then halted in front of Margaret. Hair once again covering his eyes he barely looked over the tops of his glasses at her before clearing his throat. “Where's umm...” He shifted his weight while turning his attention to the wall, “Your uh bathroom?”

Smiling, hoping it would help Simon relax, the alto pointed down the hall.  “First door on your left.”

Simon nodded quickly almost dashing to the room.  Confused Margaret arched her head watching him put his phone to his ear before entering.

Margaret returned to the kitchen, removing the kettle and pouring herself some tea. Mint to be exact as the heavenly aroma reminded her of Christmas at home.  Walking into her living room, Margaret heard Simon’s hoarse voice strain from the bathroom. Not wanting to eavesdrop proved difficult, as the walls of her flat weren't that thick.

“Yes, yes I know, I...” The organist voice broke into a cough, “I had car...” Silence followed though Margaret could hear his footsteps pace on the tile.  “It'll be done I pro...” Another cough, this one harsh strangely his words, “mise...Arthur just...” Whoever Arthur was must have cut him off. 

Taking a sip of tea, Margaret sat on the couch, which unfortunately shared a wall with the bathroom.  A bit more struggled arguing came from the organist whose voice faltered between upset and giving out. 

“I'll talk to Dr. Winchester personally just...” Another hacking cough sounded followed by agitated pacing.  “Alright, I'm sorry ...yes, yes. I will...cheers Arthur.”  A thud sounded as if Simon’s head met the back of the door.

A moment later he emerged, phone still clutched in his hand, wispy hair stuck to his face.  He sighed shoulders heaving he massaged his head. “Damn headache.” He muttered.

“Here,” Margaret pushed up, “Lay down, probably more comfortable than the hideous church one.”

The organist didn't respond, face still hidden behind hair and palm. Margaret thought maybe he'd not heard her so she stepped closing the gap between them, Simon didn't move.

“Simon, you...” Margaret brought her hand up lightly touching his shoulder and he jerked away, shocked his stormy eyes finally met hers. Wet with tears not yet shed he quickly turned running his finger under them.

“Sorry, sorry.” He whispered back to Margaret whose hand still hovered near Simon’s shoulder.  Her heart ached as the alto watched the troubled organist fight to compose himself. Sniffling a few times Simon’s hand lifted his glasses wiping away the tears slowly gliding down his pale face.  “Sorry.” His voice cracked, Margaret wasn't sure if he was apologizing to her, himself or Arthur.

“Here, please sit.” Margaret said softly gently pulling on his arm, happy when Simon didn't pull away. “Your throat sounds it needs some tea.”

Letting out an exhausted sigh Simon collapsed onto the couch leaning his head back. Filling another mug with mint tea, Margaret returned to the living room, handing it to the organist who grasped it with both hands. A smile finally showed. “Thanks.”

Sitting in the chair next to the couch Margaret returned the smile. Silence fell between them, Margaret pleased that Simon appeared to enjoy the tea.  Still sounding stuffy from his short breakdown, Simon pulled a brown handkerchief from his coat pocket palming it. “Excuse me again.” He said setting the mug down.  Walking into the bathroom, Margaret heard him blow his nose twice then clear his throat.

A minute later he returned, looking a bit worse for wear. His hair pushed back slightly as if he'd messily ran his hands through it but Margaret could now see his eyes.  Like the sea after a storm she thought to herself gazing at them.

Simon averted them hunching his frame as he coughed into his sleeve.  It was then Margaret realized she'd been staring.

“More tea?” Her voice rose an octave; inwardly cursing herself for acting like an awkward teenager, Margaret felt her face heat up.  Grabbing both mugs she proceeded into the kitchen hoping Simon wouldn't notice her reaction.

“Yes please.” He replied tiredly.

Having refilled Simon’s cup Margaret noticed his hands shaking as he sipped the tea.  “Are you cold?” She asked.

The organist looked away quickly. “N-no.” His tone fooled no one as he drew his arms in.  “Thanks for the tea.” He breathed cupping the mug to his mouth, the steam disrupted from his sip.

“I find mint quite calming.” Margaret replied sitting forward a bit. “I added a touch of honey as well.”

Sniffing Simon rubbed his nose against the back of his hand, “I can taste it.”  Taking another long sip a brief sigh escaped when he pulled the mug away.

Bringing his hand up Simon brushed his nose again.   His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering, mouth opened slightly, bottom lip quivered as he dug into his pocket.

Hhh...heh...

Squeezing those blue grey eyes shut, his pale face scrunched tightly; the brown handkerchief hovered mere millimeters from his twitchy nose.

Hehhh...ahhh...

He sniffed hard, breath continuing to hitch as final sharp inhale arched his head back.

Ah’kktshjuh!

Muffling it into his handkerchief Simon then coughed harshly hunching forward burying his head into his chest.

“Bless you.” Margaret felt bad for the clearly ill organist who still hid his face in the folds of his handkerchief.  “I have some cold medicine if you...”

“No thank you.” Simon barely got out before coughing again. “I should be going. I've...” He set the mug down and stuffed the cloth into his coat before standing, “Taken enough of your time.” Pushing up his glasses Simon’s hand brushed his temple and he grimaced painfully.

Shocked by his sudden reaction, Margaret’s mug slipped from her hand as she set it on the table, it clunked against the glass but didn't tip. Rushing to catch him before his hand gripped the doorknob, her fingers lightly grazed the back of his navy wool coat. “Simon wait.”

The organist paused but then pulled open the door. “Thank you again.” With that he hiked the collar on his coat and hurried into the hall.  Margaret watched from her doorway as Simon exited her building back into the frozen streets of Gilchrist.

TBC

[Hedgehog]

omg - what's going on? Who's Arthur? Who's Dr. Winchester?  Poor Simon - he really seems misirable. And poor Margaret who just wanted to help him; and only sees his back in the end. 

8 hours ago, Kaze wo Hiku said:

I have to say I'm mildly crushing on Simon currently

Perfectly understandable! I like him very much as well. 

Thank you for another wonderful part of your story. You spoil me!

Edit - What I forgot to say - I love how you name the chapters with terms for musical tempi.  (And I like your new Ava)

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

@hedgehog Well I hope this next part sheds a little light on some of your questions I will admit I do like the chapter titles too.

~~~~

Part 3 Allegro

“This is ridiculous.” David huffed crossing his arms. A murmur of agreement sounded from several choral members.  Margaret shifted uncomfortably on the third row step, her eyes barely leaving the front doors since the dress rehearsal started.  

No one had been surprised when 6:00pm rolled around with no sign of Simon. Now close to 8:00 it was clear he wasn't showing; even after Mary Beth tried the cell number found in the vicar’s address book.  Margaret stood, itching her inner arm again (damn robes), praying Simon would burst in. Sadly her prayers went unanswered. Dress rehearsal for the concert ended with baritone Kyle Adams filling in. He was no Simon but desperate times...

Giving a final pep talk Mary Beth reminded everyone to be at the church by 10am on Sunday for warm ups.  

Throwing on her pea coat and resting her robe over her arm, Margaret was about to head down the main aisle when she heard a few members conversing in hushed voices.

“...The vicar really should do something.”

“Well their families are friends, it's not like he had a choice. I heard Simon’s aunt begged Douglas...”

Margaret grimaced while tying her coat belt.

“...So unprofessional being late, what could he be doing?”

“Who knows honestly…”

Margaret froze at the response as something struck her. “That's exactly the issue.” She said, turning to the trio of singers. “We don’t know.  Did anyone ever ask him?”

“Well...” Ferris Livingston started, “It's not like he's social.”  He looked over the top of his glasses at Margaret.

“How were we supposed to know?” Tamara Willis shrugged in her tan jacket.

“That's the problem.” Margaret said sternly stepping up. “We should have known. We should have asked and none of us did. Not exactly welcoming wouldn't you say.”

The trio looked nervously around as the alto turned on her heels and headed out.  Walking into the main area she made her way to the vicar’s office, Douglas kept it unlocked most days.  Entering she grabbed the address book which Mary Beth used earlier.  Flipping through she found Simon’s address.  A quick scribble onto paper, Margaret took her ugly itchy red robe and headed to Simon’s.

****

Double-checking the address written with the plastic numbers set against the grey brick bungalow, Margaret walked up the slush-covered sidewalk to the house. Three steps up she stood under the covered porch, a storm door covering a white one.  A festive wreath hung illuminated under the bronze light fixture.  The blinds were drawn so she couldn't see if Simon was even home.  His Buick wasn't parked in the driveway. Ringing the doorbell Margaret had barely taken a step back when hurried footsteps sounded.

The door flung open, Simon appeared dressed in a thick black sweater and matching sweatpants. Complexion drawn, his ash blond hair stuck around his face with sweat. “Arthur! You...oh.” Simon’s excitement disappeared instantly as his red-rimmed stormy eyes met Margaret’s brown.  “Margaret what are...” The organist, if possible, paled whiter than humanly possible. “Oh no, no!”  Hands digging into his hair, Simon spun away. “It’s Thursday!” His voice hoarse voice cracked.

Margaret let herself in, entering immediately into the living room. “Simon it's okay. Mary...” Her explanation cut off as Simon broke into a sharp desperate cough doubling him over.  Rushing over, Margaret positioned herself next to the organist gently guiding him back over to a brown plaid couch, which looked like it once belonged in a hunting lodge.

Easing him down, Margaret noticed a mess of papers littering the coffee table. Simon continued to cough shielding his mouth against his sweater sleeve.  Finally regaining his breath a sigh escaped him as his hair fell back in his eyes. Margaret saw his glasses resting on the papers. A closer look and the alto realized it was sheet music, unfinished sheet music.

Simon wrapped his arms around, hugging himself, and sinking back against the couch. A bead of sweat ran down his pale face. He looked exhausted, heavy bags lined his eyes that lazily stared forward.

Margaret lightly cleared her throat since it appeared Simon zoned out momentarily. He jerked back to attention running a hand tiredly over his face. “I missed practice.”

“Mary Beth will understand.” Margaret smiled removing her coat. “Besides you probably shouldn't be out.”

Simon shrugged brushing his hair from his face. Reaching out he grabbed his glasses resting them on his slightly pink nose.  “That doesn't mean she’ll be happy.” He sniffed rubbing his against the back of his hand. “I'm already on thin ice.”  Squeezing his eyes shut he masked a sneeze into sleeve.

“Bless you.” Margaret tried giving a reassuring smile, “I'm sure if you explain; plus Douglas will vouch...”

“He’s already done enough, he convinced Mary Beth to give me the job. I can't bother him.” Simon said dejectedly as he pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Before Margaret could answer a loud ringing sounded, Simon winced massaging the nape of his neck. She waited but Simon didn't answer the phone.  He must have noticed her questioning look.  “I live with my aunt and uncle, that's their phone. They're out of town for the holiday.” Simon coughed again turning from the alto.  

Margaret glanced around at the living room with its yellow flower wallpaper. A dark wood curio held an old school television with assorted figurines on the shelves. A vase of fake flowers sat on the top along with several family pictures.  Next to the brown couch was matching chair; over it hung an oil painting of a farmhouse. The house definitely didn’t look like a single guy in his 30s lived there. Simon’s relatives appeared to be firmly attached to 70s.

Clearing his throat Simon grabbed a bag of lozenges of the side table, which also held a bottle of cough medicine. Unwrapping one he popped it in his mouth tossing the wrapper onto the coffee table.  “I can't seem to shake this cold.” Sighing his gaze dropped to the floor.

Given how awful he looked, Margaret worried this was more than a mere cold.  A buzzing sound startled Simon. Pulling out his cell he rose walking into the adjacent kitchen.

“Hello?” His rough voice barely uttered the word. “Yes.” Margaret watched him pace nervously back and forth in front of the doorway.  “Oh no.” Bringing his hand up he cupped his face. “How long?” There was a slight pause before Simon’s free hand dropped along with his jaw. “A week!!” It came out as a hitch pitched squeak. “No, no you don't...yes I understand but...”

Margaret now stood near the door hand pressed to her chest, heart racing, watching a clearly upset Simon breathless voice crack.

“I need my car! I can't miss anymore class or work!” His stormy eyes blinked rapidly.  “Yes but...” Running a hand through his hair, Simon clenched the stringy ends.  

He continued doing anxious circles in the small kitchen; Margaret noticed his breathing had become quite shallow, not that it surprised her giving his distressed state.

Finally Simon stopped, letting out a hard sigh, which turned into a brief cough; the organist’s head fell in defeat. “Ok. Ok. Thank you.” He whispered. Sniffing he quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve then stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

Margaret stepped into the kitchen. “Simon...” but the organist interrupted her.

“My luck.” He said massaging his temple. “Arthur will be upset.”

“I'm sure he...” Margaret started.

“It's not done!” Simon whipped around swaying a bit; he braced himself against the counter. Staring directly at the alto, eyes wet with tears and face glistening. “It was due a week ago but Dr. Winchester gave us an extension because of me!” Tears now mixed with sweat as his depleted voice strained in frustration. “But I'm still not done! I was up all night and now I...” Suddenly that fire died, his face lost all expression as those grey blue eyes rolled back. Gasping Margaret reached out catching the organist who slumped against her.  

“Simon!” She cried altering her weight to support his. Her hand flew to his forehead.

“M’sorry.” He muttered trying to straighten himself however Margaret wouldn't let him pull away.

“You’re burning up!” She cried practically dragging him back to the couch. They both collapsed on it, Margaret maneuvered off so the ill organist could lie down.  Breathing heavily Simon’s eyes stared unfocused for a moment before closing.  A harsh cough rocked his body, turning his head he curled away from Margaret cupping his thin fingers over his mouth.  His breath hard and desperate caught in the back of his throat; Margaret began to hear a distinct wheeze resonate.

Finally regaining his breath Simon ran a sleeve over his sweat soaked brow.  Using the coffee table, the alto pushed up. “I'll be right back.” She said before hurrying into the kitchen.  Margaret tore through every drawer before finding the dish clothes. Running one under the water until it was soaked she squeezed off the excess. Returning to the couch she gently removed his glasses and laid the cloth on Simon’s head. He let out a weak sigh.

“Do you have a thermometer?” She asked as she laid her coat over Simon’s shivering frame.

The organist’s mouth moved but only produced unintelligible grunt.  Exhaling Margaret figured the best place to look was the bathroom, which happened to be the first door on the left in the tiny hallway. Flipping on the light she winced at the pink and black tile job before opening the medicine cabinet. Relief hit as one sat on the bottom shelf.

“Simon.” She knelt down next to him. “Simon, I need to take your temperature. Can you open your mouth please?”

Simon’s stormy eyes became slits momentarily then his mouth just barely opened.

“Good.” Margaret said sliding the thermometer carefully under his tongue. “Hopefully this won't take long.” Simon bit down.

A few seconds later it beeped. Margaret frowned as she read the number. “Oh no, 102.8.”

“Arthur...” Simon muttered; his face twisted in pain. “M’sorry.”

“It's okay Simon, Arthur understands.” Margaret still only had vague idea to who this was but figured given everything the poor organist had been through lately, Arthur better understand.

“But is’ot done.” Simon lazily glanced at the sheet music littering the coffee table. “Not...don’...” His speech slurred as he tried sitting up which caused the cloth to fall from his forehead.

“It will be, but first you need rest.” Placing her hand on Simon’s chest, Margaret slowly eased him back down.  “Here let me wet this again.” Grabbing the cloth she went back into the kitchen.

Another rinse, cloth placed back on Simon’s brow, Margaret pulled her cell from her coat pocket and punched in a number.

“Bronwyn?” She said hastily. “Yes I know it's late but I need you.” Quickly she summed up her predicament. “Can you come over? Oh thank you I owe you.”  After giving Simon’s address, Margaret ended the call turning her attention back to the organist who continued to shiver.

A quick search of a bedroom, Margaret found a knitted green afghan in a closet.  Removing her coat, she laid the blanket over Simon tucking it into the side of the couch.  Taking the cloth, Margaret gently wiped the sweat, which ran down Simon’s pale face.  

Inhaling sharply, Simon pulled the blanket up over his face.

Ehhh’tscheww!
Eh’Eeeschhieww!

Sniffling hard triggered a dry raspy cough, which he also shielded into the afghan.

“Ow.” He whispered grimacing in pain, rubbing his throat.

Margaret looked at her watch; Bronwyn wouldn't be here for at least a half an hour. “We need to get your fever down.” Exhaling Margaret ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly looking around.  Her gaze fell on the side table, a white bottle caught her attention.  Her lips parted into a smile seeing the aspirin behind the cough medicine.

“Can you sit up?” She asked maneuvering her hand between cushion and Simon’s back.

“Mmm?” His head wobbled toward her voice. “Wha?”

Bracing herself Margaret was able to lift up just enough considering she was getting minimal help from the organist.

Margaret supported him as he swallowed the pills with water.  “Here another sip.” She asked politely as Simon tried laying back. He moaned in protest but managed a bit more water. Margaret carefully brushed the matted hair from his forehead, which still felt hot to the touch.  “Hopefully this works.” She said mostly to herself.  

Simon’s head rolled side to side, eyes opened momentarily staring lazily up before fluttering closed. “G.” He breathed.

Confused Margaret mopped his brow again hoping the medicine would soon take effect.

“A. D.” Simon continued “B major. C...no no.” His expression contorted, eyes rolled beneath his lids. “D. D. Tha’s good.”

Margaret’s heart sank listening as the feverish organist composed desperately trying to finish his work.

“G. Rest. A. D.  Da capo. Wha’ you th’nk Arthur?” He asked with a sigh.

Smiling in spite of her concern, Margaret adjusted the blanket closer around him. “I think it sounds wonderful.”

Simon exhaled in relief. “Good...goo...” His words trailed off lost in mumble. He seemed to drift off so the alto simply waited keeping a close eye on him.  Sweat beads pooled around his hairline again, Margaret wiped them then went back into the kitchen to rinse the rag.  As she replaced it on Simon’s head listening to his raspy breath, a knock sounded.

Thankfully it didn't disturb the organist who finally seemed a bit calmer. Margaret opened the door just enough to see a woman with short feathery black hair half smiling at her.

“Alright little sister I'm here. Where's the patient?” Dr. Bronwyn Fielding asked stepping in.

TBC

~~~~

I think this is going to be five chapters total.

[Hedgehog]

Awwww, that's so sweet! His fever, his desperate tries to finish his composition anyway.  Margaret all worried about him!  And...

20 minutes ago, Kaze wo Hiku said:

Suddenly that fire died, his face lost all expression as those grey blue eyes rolled back. Gasping Margaret reached out catching the organist who slumped against her.  

“Simon!” She cried altering her weight to support his. Her hand flew to his forehead.

“M’sorry.” He muttered trying to straighten himself however Margaret wouldn't let him pull away.

“You’re burning up!” She cried practically dragging him back to the couch. They both collapsed on it, Margaret maneuvered off so the ill organist could lie down.  Breathing heavily Simon’s eyes stared unfocused for a moment before closing.  A harsh cough rocked his body, turning his head he curled away from Margaret cupping his thin fingers over his mouth.  His breath hard and desperate caught in the back of his throat; Margaret began to hear a distinct wheeze resonate.

21 minutes ago, Kaze wo Hiku said:

“Do you have a thermometer?” She asked as she laid her coat over Simon’s shivering frame.

The organist’s mouth moved but only produced unintelligible grunt.  Exhaling Margaret figured the best place to look was the bathroom, which happened to be the first door on the left in the tiny hallway. Flipping on the light she winced at the pink and black tile job before opening the medicine cabinet. Relief hit as one sat on the bottom shelf.

“Simon.” She knelt down next to him. “Simon, I need to take your temperature. Can you open your mouth please?”

Simon’s stormy eyes became slits momentarily then his mouth just barely opened.

“Good.” Margaret said sliding the thermometer carefully under his tongue. “Hopefully this won't take long.” Simon bit down.

A few seconds later it beeped. Margaret frowned as she read the number. “Oh no, 102.8.”

“Arthur...” Simon muttered; his face twisted in pain. “M’sorry.”

“It's okay Simon, Arthur understands.” Margaret still only had vague idea to who this was but figured given everything the poor organist had been through lately, Arthur better understand.

“But is’ot done.” Simon lazily glanced at the sheet music littering the coffee table. “Not...don’...” His speech slurred as he tried sitting up which caused the cloth to fall from his forehead.

23 minutes ago, Kaze wo Hiku said:

Margaret ended the call turning her attention back to the organist who continued to shiver.

A quick search of a bedroom, Margaret found a knitted green afghan in a closet.  Removing her coat, she laid the blanket over Simon tucking it into the side of the couch.  Taking the cloth, Margaret gently wiped the sweat, which ran down Simon’s pale face.  

Inhaling sharply, Simon pulled the blanket up over his face.

Ehhh’tscheww!
Eh’Eeeschhieww!

Sniffling hard triggered a dry raspy cough, which he also shielded into the afghan.

“Ow.” He whispered grimacing in pain, rubbing his throat.

Margaret looked at her watch; Bronwyn wouldn't be here for at least a half an hour. “We need to get your fever down.” Exhaling Margaret ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly looking around.  Her gaze fell on the side table, a white bottle caught her attention.  Her lips parted into a smile seeing the aspirin behind the cough medicine.

“Can you sit up?” She asked maneuvering her hand between cushion and Simon’s back.

“Mmm?” His head wobbled toward her voice. “Wha?”

Bracing herself Margaret was able to lift up just enough considering she was getting minimal help from the organist.

Margaret supported him as he swallowed the pills with water.  “Here another sip.” She asked politely as Simon tried laying back. He moaned in protest but managed a bit more water. Margaret carefully brushed the matted hair from his forehead, which still felt hot to the touch.  “Hopefully this works.” She said mostly to herself.  

Simon’s head rolled side to side, eyes opened momentarily staring lazily up before fluttering closed. “G.” He breathed.

Confused Margaret mopped his brow again hoping the medicine would soon take effect.

“A. D.” Simon continued “B major. C...no no.” His expression contorted, eyes rolled beneath his lids. “D. D. Tha’s good.”

Margaret’s heart sank listening as the feverish organist composed desperately trying to finish his work.

“G. Rest. A. D.  Da capo. Wha’ you th’nk Arthur?” He asked with a sigh.

Smiling in spite of her concern, Margaret adjusted the blanket closer around him. “I think it sounds wonderful.”

Simon exhaled in relief. “Good...goo...” His words trailed off lost in mumble. He seemed to drift off so the alto simply waited keeping a close eye on him.

Awwwwww - Simon so helpless, so "out of it" and still composing in his mind - this KILLS ME! 

And even more parts to come? Wow... just wow... That's all so amazing, Kaze! So amazing! :heart:

[AngelEyes]

Late to the party! But wow! Loving this!

[murphy dee]

OH wow, this is really wonderful!!!  I just adore poor Simon, he seems like a damn stressed-out wreck of a man.  Also I rrrreally loved the part where he was still trying to compose in spite of his fever delirium.  I got (and get) some serious Amadeus feels from this and mmmm it's super nice.  Gotta love a creative genius working himself nearly to death until some kind soul steps him to save him from his own outrageous work ethic. 

[M214186]

Enjoying the story

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

@hedgehog Simon is adorable isn't he Glad you're liking it!

@AngelEyes As always, thank you!

@murphy dee Thank you! And your feels would be correct as that's exactly where I pulled inspiration from That near end scene with Mozart and Salieri hit me while I was flushing out details for that part.  Glad someone got the reference

@M214186 Thank you!

Ok sorry for the over month pause between updates, I got distracted but our genius is back ^^ Much thanks to @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier for the proof read again

~~~~
Part 4 Rallentando

“Well.” Bronwyn pulled the stethoscope from her ears, setting it around her neck, her lavender blouse crinkling under it. “He definitely has the flu probably bordering on bronchitis.  Fever is high too.”

“I did have him take aspirin after I called you.” Margaret said. The sisters had been able to get Simon coherent enough so Bronwyn could exam him quickly. It hadn't been easy, as he'd slumped against Margaret the entire time.  Thankfully the doctor was fast.

Bronwyn reached into her bag pulling out a thermometer running it over Simon’s glistening brow.  “103. You need to get it down.”  Her eyes went to the kitchen. “Check the freezer.”

Margaret rose knowing what her sister implied. Wrapping a bag of frozen carrots in a towel she laid it on Simon’s forehead. He flinched, grunting slightly as his eyes lazily opened.

“Simon?” The alto tried keeping her tone light.

“Cold.” He whispered before coughing hard into the blanket.

“That does not sound good.” Bronwyn stated putting her stethoscope back in her bag as Simon shifted beneath the afghan.  “He needs proper antibiotics, over the counter cough medicine isn't going to help at this point.”

Margaret gave her sister a pleading look.

“Fine I'll write a script.” The doctor said. “Plus I can't turn down a musician, especially a blond one.” Bronwyn cocked her eyebrow at Simon.

“Bronnie!” Margaret said through her teeth though secretly not surprised at her sister's bluntness.

Bronwyn scoffed as she scribbled on her prescription pad. “Relax Maggie, he's all yours.”

Margaret drew back unable to hide as her cheeks flushed. “It's not like that.”

“Please don't tell me you're still hung up on Ben?” Bronwyn ripped the paper off handing it to Margaret.

“No!” The alto replied a bit more defensively than she'd hoped. “Simon and I barely know each other.” Her hand tightened around the paper.

“And yet...” The doctor half smiled at her sister. Margaret rolled her eyes.  “Get that filled ASAP.”  Bronwyn pulled her coat back on and threw her flowered scarf back around her neck.
 
Margaret sighed setting the prescription paper on the coffee table. “I wish Gilchrist had a 24 hour pharmacy.”  She then walked her sister to the door.

“The joys of living in a small town.” Bronwyn replied dryly while flicking a look at her watch. “Well I'm now officially late to Jared’s party.”

Margaret’s forehead creased as Bronwyn exited. “I thought it started at 8 and that you weren't going?”

“Well I didn't tell him I was.” The dark haired woman pressed her lips into a smile as she looked over her shoulder.

Margaret shook her head, “You're awful. Thanks again, Bronnie.”

“Anytime little sister.” Bronwyn nodded before getting in her car.  Closing the door, Margaret returned to Simon who drew a shivery breath.  Adjusting the blanket closer around him, the alto once again wiped his forehead.

Borderline bronchitis. Her sister's diagnosis hadn't surprised her.  Simon’s cough gave him away.  The fever worried her more; she'd have to keep it down. She hadn't planned on it but Margaret definitely was staying the night.  At least a chair sat near the couch so Simon wouldn't be far.

Margaret dabbed the fevered organists face again while Simon shivered beneath his blanket.  

Sitting in the chair she watched Simon for a while as he continued to stir, fidgeting in his troubled sleep.  Margaret sighed, then checked her watch; it was after 11.  Stifling a yawn with her fist, Margaret leaned back closing her eyes. Resting them for a few minutes wouldn't do any harm.

****
Margaret woke with a start, a hard thump jerking her up. Heart racing she looked around to find Simon sitting hunched over the table, scribbling onto a piece of sheet music.  His hair matted around his ashen face from sweat, he'd not even noticed Margaret staring. A large book on classical music lay awkwardly at his feet, next to the bag of vegetables, the alto assumed either it had fallen or Simon had thrown it down.

Swiping his sweater sleeve over his forehead, Simon mouthed notes while penning them on the sheet music.  Right as Margaret found her voice, the organist slammed down the pencil. “Wrong!” He exclaimed, his voice cracking sharply.  Burying his head in his palms a deep sigh escaped him. “All wrong.” This came out a desperate whisper.

Margaret bit her lip debating what to say.  “Simon?” She finally said quietly not surprised when he jumped.

Simon blinked confused but as he went to speak another harsh cough bent him over.  Margaret grabbed the glass off the end table and hurried into the kitchen filling it with water.
She crouched down resting her hand gently on Simon’s knee as he gulped the water, his slender fingers cupping the glass. Margaret held on since she didn't trust his grasp.

He gasped sucking in air after he finished then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Another hard exhale Simon blinked before digging his palms against his eyes.

“Does your headache?” Margaret asked softly while setting the glass on the table.  Simon nodded; the loose ends of his hair dislodging from his brow. Glancing at her watch it was well past midnight so time for more medicine.  The bottle still sat on the end table so she shook out two into Simon’s shaky hand then refilled the water.  Once again the organist drank quickly, which pleased Margaret, as she didn't want him dehydrated.

Simon pulled out his phone sliding the screen. Staring at it a few moments he groaned then tucked it back into his pocket. “I've class in 8 hours and still an unfinished project.” His voice was still hoarse.

Curiosity finally got the better of Margaret, “What is all this?” She motioned with her fingers to the mess of sheet music scattered on the table.  Simon shivered pulling his arms close to his body. Margaret pulled the blanket that lay next to them on couch up around him.

“Thank you.” The corner of his thin lips turned up slightly with a smile. He coughed then cleared his throat wincing before he opened his mouth again. “My unfinished symphony.”

“So should I call you Schubert?” Margaret said, raising an eyebrow. Simon smirked.  “You said class, so this is for school?”

Simon shook his head while bringing his hand up; his expression slacked grey blue eyes rolled back as his head titled.

Ehhh...

His chin twitched, a sharp gasp sounded as his head finally dipped forward.

Ehhh'thchheeww!
Hehhh’TSCHhheww!

Simon held the position as his harsh barking cough hit again. Margaret hovered close wrapping her arm around his slender frame. The poor organist looked as if the cough could break him in half. Finally Simon regained his breath. “Sorry.” He rasped feebly pulling the blanket closer. “Yes school. I've been at Crestwood for a few years.” His hands folded together in his lap. “Working on my Masters in Music Composition.”

Truly Margaret shouldn't have been surprised, Crestwood was a premiere Liberal Arts college. Many talented musicians, authors, and lecturers had graduated from the prestigious school. Still the fact she actually knew someone enrolled shocked her. “Crestwood.”

“I thought you'd be familiar with it.” Simon replied plucking some tissues from the nearby box.

“I am a little.” Margaret had visited the college several years ago; it was small but enchanting. The structures dated back a few hundred years, most of the buildings were stone and the grounds surrounded in a canopy of tall trees.  Remembering the campus, a thought occurred to her. “It's not exactly close to Gilchrist.”

Simon’s pale cheeks tinted red momentarily. “I've tried to schedule earlier class but...” Another hard cough racked his body, and he covered his mouth with the tissues. “Availability and traffic haven't helped.”  He replied tiredly then picked up the pencil again making a note.  “Final project for my Advanced Classical Music course is to write a four movement orchestral symphony.  Arthur and I have been composing for months. He took the first and second; I have the third and fourth.” Simon let loose another ragged cough. “I should take some cough medicine.”

“I'll call in your prescription once the pharmacy opens.” Margaret said stretching her arms up to the ceiling. Simon flashed a puzzled look. “Do...you remember earlier?”

The organist’s brow knitted, he cupped his forehead with his hand. “Vaguely. I do remember another person.” His weak voice gave out, clearing it didn't help much; Simon winced in pain.

Folding her hands in her lap Margaret explained discovering his high temperature, calling her sister and the examination. “She wrote you a prescription for antibiotics. It'll help but you should probably get some more rest.” The alto moved off the couch hoping Simon would take the hint and lay down.

“I need to finish this.” Simon replied still massaging his head. “If I could only get this ending right.” He rasped; sounding so desperate Margaret felt her heart twinge. Simon hunched forward propping his cheek against his palm.

Margaret’s chest tightened seeing how defeated the organist looked. Beads of sweat still ran down Simon’s face, hair matted stuck around his eyes and ears. “Do you just need the ending?” Taking the sheet he'd been working on Margaret glanced at the work. Simon’s fourth movement appeared to be a rondo form done in the ABACA style.

Simon nodded lazily not looking up.  Margaret began to hear the music in her head, the beginning was furiously paced; this would harness the virtuosic prowess of the orchestra. She could picture the sections feverishly playing the quick time repeating the main theme then going into the rondo’s substructure. In her head it sounded beautiful but she could see repeated erasers marks all over the music, notes crossed out, rewritten and then crossed out again. But the main theme stood out, the alto began to hum it to herself.

Hearing her voice, Simon’s head shot up. Margaret blushed before hastily setting the paper back down. “Sorry, I just...it's beautiful I...”

“Sing it again.” Simon clasped his hand on her arm so fast it startled Margaret.

“What?” She wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly.

“You were humming it, can you continue?” Simon’s tired grey blue eyes, red rimmed and lined with bags pleaded but there was something else in them. Inspiration.

Margaret felt how tight the grip on her arm was however she decided to bargain a bit. “Okay but first I take your temperature.” She rested her other hand on his.

“Deal.” Simon replied, turning he grabbed the thermometer off the side table sticking it under his tongue. A few seconds later, it beeped. “102.6.” He shrugged it off picking up his pencil. “Alright start at the 7th stanza on the 3rd page.” He handed her a sheet of music.

Margaret sighed while taking the page. “We work for half an hour then a break.” Truthfully she was happy Simon appeared to regain his composing confidence.

The two brainstormed for thirty minutes then Margaret imposed her break, which Simon begrudgingly accepted. The alto made tea; got the organist to drink some more water and keep a cloth on his head for a bit.  After fifteen minutes Simon went back to work. This routine continued for the next hour or so with Margaret singing the parts Simon jotted down so he could hear it.  He worked quickly, Margaret was in awe how fast his hand wrote down notes; it was hard for even her to sight read that fast.

“Here this part one more time.” Simon pointed to the last page. “Second stanza please.” He coughed into his sleeve while writing. Margaret sang her rich voice filling the small living room with Simon’s beautiful symphony.

Finally at quarter to three in the morning, Simon Crawford wrote the final note. His project was officially done. “Congratulations.” Margaret said as he exhaled.

“Thank you.” For the first time a sincere smile broke through those thin lips, Simon’s stormy eyes tired yet relieved. He leaned back against the couch and closed them. For Margaret it seemed like a weight lifted off him. “It's complete.” He whispered.

“It is.” Margaret said softly.

Simon ran a hand over his pale face. “I'm exhausted.” Huffing a laugh triggered his cough. He bent forward cupping his hands over his mouth.

Margaret moved off the nearby chair and eased him down. She placed her hand on his forehead, sadly he still felt hot to the touch. Hopefully with his symphony done, Simon would now concentrate solely on getting well.  “Lie down and sleep. I'm going to rinse this again.” She held up the cloth.  

“Margaret?” Simon’s voice so weak she barely heard him. “You’re staying right?” Grey blue eyes fluttered as the organist tried to see her.

Margaret bent down clasping Simon’s hand in hers softly stroking the top of his palm. “Of course.”

Simon let out a sigh that heaved his entire body as if all his stress suddenly disappeared with his breath. “Good.” He replied sleepily, within a minute his ragged breathing calmed slightly and Margaret could tell he'd fallen asleep. She squeezed his hand then tucked it gently under the blanket then went to rinse the cloth again.

TBC

~~~~

Next part will be the final installment!

 

[Hedgehog]

You did everything right, dear. My fingertips hurt and my heart flipped with every description of his fever and misery. His composing while in a fever is so delicious and you describe every detail about it so perfectly. Of course, I also got the Mozart reference. But this here is much better. Because Margarete is singing and Simon likes it. 

I still don’t know how I deserved it to get you as my writer for Secret Santa, Kaze. I’m so thankful, you can’t imagine. 

[AngelEyes]

Awww. This is sweet.

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

I FINISHED IT!!! First of all @Hedgehog I am so sorry it took me THIS LONG to write one final part but finally after nearly 2 years, here's the last part to your SS gift.  Enjoy my friend!

~~~~

Part 5 Calando

Margaret stirred. A sharp pain in her lower back, courtesy of the uncomfortable chair, forced her to sit up. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust while stretching her hands to the ceiling. Clock on the wall read half past 7, or at least that's what it looked like in the dark.  Fighting off a yawn, Margaret ran a hand through her hair brushing the loose ends back from around her face then her gaze went to the couch. 

Simon lay, huddled under the wool blanket, a few beads of sweat glistening his brow. The patient was sleeping, a low congested breath rose and fell from his chest.  Pushing up, Margaret exhaled a grunt. That chair was far from comfortable. A quick visual overlook, Simon appeared about the same from last night but as Margaret examined him closer a sense of peace lined the edges of his pale face. His eyes weren't squeezed shut as before, only softly closed as he slept. 

Margaret smiled as she walked into the kitchen. Setting the kettle on the burner, she then pulled her phone from her pocket and phoned in Simon’s prescription. One of the positive aspects of living in a small town was home delivery.  Simon’s medicine would be arriving in roughly forty minutes. Pouring a cup for herself, Margaret sat at the table, quietly sipping her tea, every so often glancing at the still sleeping Simon. Just as she took her last sip a deep barking cough sounded from the couch.  Simon’s body curled as he shielded his cough into the blanket, the fringes waving from the motion. Simon gulped a hard breath before forcing himself up, his awful cough shook his thin frame. 

Margaret sat then helped Simon right himself, handing him a small glass of water. She held onto the glass as Simon’s shaking hand probably would have dropped it.  The organist exhaled a ragged sigh, Margaret could hear how obstructed his breathing sounded as it rattled in his chest.  

“Many thanks...” Simon replied in a soft hoarse whisper.  He swallowed, the twinge near his eye gave Margaret the impression his sore still hurt. 

“I called in your prescription,” Margaret started as Simon ran a hand through his messy matted hair, “Amanda said it'd be should here within the hour.”  

Simon glazed grey blue eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember anything about a prescription. “Oh right,” He coughed out, “Your...sister?” Simon hesitated as if he wasn't completely sure of his answer.  

Margaret smiled and nodded, “Correct maestro.”  

Simon huffed but then his weary glazed eyes opened wider, he began to look around feverishly, “I finished it...right? My symp...” A harsh barking cough cut him off. Simon shivered under the blanket pulling it closer around his frame. Margaret frowned, she reached over grabbing the thermometer, hoping his fever hadn’t flared up again.  

“Yes, you did and it sounded wonderful.” Margaret motioned to the papers littering the coffee table before handing Simon the thermometer which he stuck under his tongue. 

A muffled fatigued “Good.” came from clenched teeth.  

“102.6, so not any lower but thankfully not higher.” Margaret had a feeling, as headed to the kitchen to refill the glass, only antibiotics would bring down that awful fever.  As Margaret handed the glass back to Simon, praying his thin trembling hand didn't drop it, the doorbell sounded. “Here, swallow these.” Her hand cupped Simon’s so he wouldn't spill the Advil. “I'll get the door, Amanda made quick work of your medicine.” 

Pulling the handle back, the door swung open but between Margaret and the storm door stood a tall man in a navy blue coat, the straps of a backpack resting on his shoulders. A black ball cap hid most of his brown hair which only squeaked out the sides. A scruffy beard with hints of red and dark brown eyes stared back in equal shock. 

“Simon?” His tone was firm if not slightly demanding. Before Margaret could answer the man peaked around her into the front room. 

“Arthur!” Simon squawked, jumping up but hit with a wave of dizziness, the organist swayed as the blanket covering him slipped to the floor. Immediately Margaret rushed over catching the sick man.  

“So, you're Arthur.” She retorted at the man who now stood in the living room with them. Easing Simon down, Margaret retrieved the blanket wrapping it back around him.   

Arthur’s brown eyes went from Simon to the chaotic pile of papers littering the coffee table. “You finished it right?”  Margaret detected more than a hint of desperation. 

Simon managed a weak nod as he covered another harsh cracking cough erupted from him.  “I did...though I won’t be...making class...” He croaked while shuffling his symphony together. Bending down, Arthur joined him removing his own part.  Together they pieced their four parts into one grand symphony.  

Arthur let out a dramatic sigh as he carefully placed their final project in his backpack. “Dr. Winchester will be pleased.” He said while shifting it over his shoulder then turned heading to door. “Feel better.” Arthur half waved before shutting it. 

Margaret frowned, “Not even a thank you.” She grumbled, her arms folded across her chest.   

“It’s fine.” Simon’s damaged voice cracked, he now wore his wire frame glasses. “Arthur...struggled.” A hoarse throat clear made him wince. “He needed this grade. If I didn’t finish my part then...” Stormy blue eyes trailed into a fevered glaze. Simon ran his sleeve across his nose, the already raw sides flaring from the wool of his sweater. 

Margaret inhaled, “Still though, you did finish.” She sat back handing Simon the water again. 

“Thanks to you.” He said quietly, a faint blush painted his already crimson cheeks.  

A smile formed on Margaret’s lips as the bell rang again.  “I swear if it’s Simon again.” Rising she peeked through the adjacent window first.  To her relief and delight, Hans from the pharmacy stood holding a bag. 

* 

After a steamy bowl of hot soup and a dose of antibiotics, Simon and Margaret sat together on the brown plaid couch, the organist still huddled in his blanket but his temperature had decreased a bit.  “102. Better.” Margaret said setting the thermometer on the table. Arching her back, she cracked her neck before letting a groan; sleeping in the chair was catching up to her. 

“You don’t need to stay.” Simon’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve got medicine an....nd....” His face slacked as one hand brought up the edge of the blanket. 

Ah’kktshjuh! 

Simon’s wispy blonde hair bobbed as he masked the hearty sneeze. To his dismay another one quickly followed.  Margaret reached over for the tissue box getting a sniffled thanks from the organist.  

A congested blow sounded, Simon grimaced behind the tissues as he sniffed hard.  “As I was saying.” He paused to wipe the edges of his pink nose. “I’ll be fine now. You deserve...” Coughing cut him off this time, “To go home and sleep in a real bed.  I’ll be fine.” The tone of his feeble voice made Margaret wonder who he was trying to convince. However, she couldn’t argue with him. “At least let me brew you some tea before I leave.” Pushing up, not letting Simon answer, she smiled at him on her way into the kitchen. 

* 

“Was Mary Beth upset?” Simon’s long fingers cupped his mug as he took another long of the soothing mint sip.  Three days had passed since he and Margaret finished the symphony. Sadly, with his borderline bronchitis he’d been unable to accompany the choir for the Christmas concert.   

The two now sat once again in the stuck in 70s living room of Simon’s aunt and uncle's house. “Kyle did a fine job.” Margaret replied setting her own mug down. “And no, she wasn’t, after I explained everything including your reasons for being late, she understood.” The red headed choir director had been shocked to hear about Simon being enrolled at Crestwood, a tactic which Margaret hoped would pay off.  “She also said meet with her about your class schedule and she’ll try to work around it.”  

Simon nodded but didn’t reply, his stormy eyes looked away toward the window.  Margaret noticed he’d been quieter than usual today. “Something bothering you?” The alto asked finally curiosity got the better of her. 

Startled, Simon’s blanket slipped off. “No I... well...” His voice not quite as hoarse still had a vague roughness to it. Quickly he cleared his throat then sipped his tea again. “I’m in your debt, Margaret.” He refused to make eye contact with her talking to the pillow which lay next to him.  “You...you’ve been the first person here to...” Simon swallowed hard as his poor voice went out again.  

Margaret thought his eyes looked a bit teary.  “Simon, relax.” Sliding over from the brown chair, she positioned herself near him, crossing one leg over the other. “It was nothing, honestly you should be thanking Brownyn.” She said with a slight laugh, Simon’s mouth twitched a bit. “All I ask is if this ever happens again, you tell me about it.  Deal?” 

Rubbing his eyes fiercely, probably to hide any tears forming, Simon gave a weary nod. “Agreed.  However,...” His grey blue eyes hidden a touch by his blonde hair finally looked at Margaret. “I would like to compose something for you.” Pausing, Simon brought his hand up pressing it to his mouth and swallowed a cough. “Something...for you to sing.” 

Margaret could not believe what she was hearing.  “I’d love that, Simon.” 

The alto and the organist both smiled; both of them happy with getting to know the other. 

Fin

~~~~

Thank you to everyone who commented on it!

[Hedgehog]

Awwww - all good things are worth waiting for. Right? This was really a surprise and a wonderful last part of the story about Simon and Margaret.A little bit more fever, some recovery and a sweet promise in the end. ❤️

[AngelEyes]

This was just lovely!