Pill bottles clattered to the floor as Eva's hand shot out across the bedside table. Her body ached. Her fever was down but her head still felt overfilled, like her swollen brain was trying to work its way out through her nose. For hours she hadn't wanted to move, just shivered in the bed, but now the discomfort was unbearable. Eva pulled herself up and squinted at the bottles that remained on the bedside table. Nothing. She was supposed to be a bloody doctor but she didn't have a single thing to treat the flu.

Eva flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her cracked lips parted so she could breathe, her nose stuffed. Her eyes filled with tears. Again. Had she ever stopped crying since that afternoon those days ago? She barely had to twitch her fingers to reach a tissue since she'd been cradling the box for the past few days. Eva brought the tissue to dab at her cheeks.

It was over. Tucker was gone. And it was her fault. She'd just left him there. Because she couldn't bear to cry in front of him. So now she cried alone. Sick in bed. A human petri dish.

If she'd only stayed, maybe she could have made him understand. He just seemed to take it so personally and the only explanation for that she could come up with was the mugging. He'd been really hurt after all. Really sick.

He hadn't seemed to understand though. He had acted like she had a choice what kind of patients she cared for, but she didn't. The Marketplace explosions were a freak incident. How could she not have helped? But that didn't mean that she was magically allowed to practice. No, he didn't understand. He was asking her to give up medicine. Just when it started to have meaning again.

Eva rolled to her side and pressed her hot cheek against the pillow. Everything hurt. "Help me," she rasped, but she didn't know who she was asking.

A bowl of chicken noodle soup steamed on her desk. Eva bent over the bowl and inhaled. She could feel the warmth, as if it were flowing through her entire body. Spoon clinked the edge of the bowl, stirring gently, then brought a taste of the broth to her lips. A quiet noise of comfort caught in her throat as she swallowed.

This was the last serving she'd managed to stretch out of the soup Tucker had given her and she was finally feeling better. As reluctant as she'd been to accept help, of any kind, she had to admit, the soup had done her good. Science be damned, mother's wisdom wins again.

Eva tucked into the soup heartily, her head filled with positive, hopeful thoughts for the first time in days. Couples worked through conflict all the time. This didn't need to be the end of their relationship. They'd just talk it out, and she'd decide what to do.

Out of her window, Eva watched a group of children playing in the snow that covered the Marketplace. The sun was going down on a frigid but beautiful day. She could see their heated breaths as they ran back and forth tossing snowballs at each other. Eva laughed between spoonfuls as the little ones teamed up against the bigger kids.

Pounding on the door caused her to jump, spoon dropping to the desk. Eva turned to look, getting to her feet, and then with hopeful steps trotted down the stairs. If it was Tucker they could finally talk, sort it out.

As soon as she pulled open the door, Eva started to close it again.

"I can't help you! Go to the clinic!"

The man's arm shot out and held the door just enough to keep her from closing it. He was a big man, not as big as Tucker, but big enough. All of his weight was on his right leg. Frozen blood crusted around and down the pant of his left leg.

"I fell." The man offered the feeble explanation.

"On a knife?" Eva shook her head and started to shut the door again. "Go to the clinic. I can't help you."

The man held the door firm. "Come on, I heard you can fix this. I'll pay you. You can fix this right?" Trying to show her more of the wound, he pulled aside the layers of frozen material along the inside of his thigh.

Eva hissed. "Stop. Stop pulling it!" From a yard away, Eva could see that the blade had nicked his femoral artery. If it hadn't been so cold, he would have bled out already. Her heart pounded in her chest. If she brought him inside she could at least field dress it long enough for him to make it to the clinic.

But then she'd made that promise to Tucker that she wouldn't work. She wouldn't treat anyone. It felt like her chest was being crushed. It hurt to breathe. This man was going to lose his leg. If he were lucky.

Eva pulled off her sweater to get to the flannel shirt beneath it. "Give me your knife."

The man shifted his weight for a half second and then handed over his blade. Eva took it from him, poking the end into the bottom of her shirt, and tore a long strip free. She stepped forward and tied the strip firmly around his thigh above the wound, wrapping the blade in with it, turning it tight to make a tourniquet.

"Hold this. Tight."

The man reached out and took the blade from her, holding the tourniquet in place. Eva rushed out into the snow, down the alley to the Marketplace and flagged down a driver. The old man pulled his team to a stop at the head of the alleyway, talking around a smoking pipe.

"Yes, miss?"

"I'll give you five silvers to take that man to the hospital as fast as your wagon will go."

The man squinted from her down the alley to the man, and then grunted in consent. Eva ran back down the alley, and helped the injured man into the bed of the wagon. From her pocket she fished the silvers, two going to the driver, and three for the injured man for him to give to the driver on arrival. Eva watched as the wagon hustled off, then turned and ran back to her apartment.

She slammed the door shut on the cold, shivering. Her body leaned forward, eyes closed. It still hurt to breathe. Blood rushed through her veins, sounding in her head like a rising accusation. A fist punched at the door, and her head tilted back to release a scream of frustration.