As if junior year wasn't killer enough, Lucas finds himself coming down with something right before the second exams of the semester are approaching.

It's the kind of sickness he can feel creeping up on him a mile away—his joints have a slight ache that has nothing to do with baseball practice. His eyes feel like they're being sucked back into his skull, and he has to keep pulling on and removing his jacket because his body temperature can't seem to find equilibrium. He's cold one second, then hot the next.

The nausea sets in the next day. Then the fever. But he's got an exam coming up in AP Biology and he'll be damned if he gets another failing grade so he puts a cold compress on his head to cool him down enough to get ready for school and trudges his way to the subway regardless.

Everything is going swimmingly—aside from the nausea—until Riley and Farkle find him at lunch after Anatomy. From the look on Riley's face as she marches toward him, it's obvious Farkle has informed her he's feeling a little under the weather.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, less accusatory and more a mixture of exhaustion and concern. As if she's internally wondering why on Earth he loves to torture himself in front of her.

Considering he knows he has no plausible excuses, he sticks with sarcasm as his only defense. "Well, this is school. And I'm legally required to be here."

"Not under the circumstances of illness or family emergency," Farkle points out, sliding into the seat across from him and examining him critically. "While I don't know the status of your family, I'm fairly certain you fit the other criteria."

Smackle approaches as Riley moves to stand behind him. "Greetings, friends. Wow, Lucas. You look abysmal. Even worse than in Anatomy this morning."

"Thanks, Smackle."

Riley reaches from behind him and places her hand on his forehead, catching him by surprise. She pulls her hand back before he can shrink away, making an indignant noise in the back of her throat. "You should not be here. You're so hot."

"Please, Riley, don't feed his ego," Farkle says flatly. Lucas hopes Riley is giving him the same unamused glare as he is.

"You're burning up." On instinct, Riley smooths some of the hair on the back of his head affectionately, before plopping down in the seat next to him. "Why are you here? Why won't you let yourself stay home and get better?"

"I have a test in AP Bio that I want to be prepared for. And I'm fine. I'm barely sick."

Smackle tilts her head at him, chewing the carrot that Farkle hands her and giving Lucas a skeptical stare. "Barely? Lucas, I can feel the fever radiating off of you from the other side of the table. You're pale. You have bags under your eyes that make you look rather like a corpse rather than a functioning human being. To be perfectly candid, the only reason I'm still sitting here is that I have already gotten my flu shot."

Farkle nods in agreement, smirking. "We went together last weekend. Matching band aids."

"A genius is only useful in good health!"

Riley ignores the two of them, her attention solely focused on Lucas next to her. He's determined to get through the school day, but Riley's concerned gaze is a pretty good source of guilt. Crazy, how she can make him feel bad about the way he treats himself. "Will you please go to the nurse and go home? If you have a fever, you can't be at school. Don't make this harder than it is."

He shakes his head. "I'm fine."

Riley and Farkle exchange a look, as if they were expecting him to respond this way. He glances suspiciously at them.

"We figured you'd say that," Farkle sighs, getting to his feet. "Now we've got to do this the hard way."

"What are you talking about?"

Riley rises next to him as well. "Farkle could tell you were sick. The moment he told me, we knew you wouldn't take care of yourself so we had to take matters into our own hands."

Lucas examines them for a long moment, standing in front of him with their hands clasped together authoritatively. All the sudden, he realizes what they've done.

"You told on me? To the nurse?"

Riley nods solemnly. Farkle crosses his arms, jutting his chin in his typical prideful way. "If you don't want to make a scene, you'd better come with us. Otherwise, we told the nurse to send for you in the cafeteria if you didn't show up within twenty minutes of the first bell."

"We wanted to give ourselves a window to try and convince you to go on your own."

"Now, you've forced our hand. Come on, time to go."

Lucas is genuinely dumbfounded, both because his friends care enough to pull a stunt like this and because they go to such great lengths when they've got a plan in mind. He shoots a glare towards Smackle, who shrugs, before grabbing his backpack and getting to his feet.

"I can't believe you're turning me in," he grumbles.

Riley gives him an apologetic smile. Farkle tosses a quick be right back to Smackle and smirks triumphantly as he leads the way out of the cafeteria.

At the nurse's office, they hand him over to their care. Farkle leaves once he's secured but Riley hangs around while he's checked in. She watches in disbelief as they fill out an information card for him, amazed that he's never been in the nurse's office before until this very moment. Then, she sits next to him in the waiting chairs while they input the new information to the computers and call an emergency contact to pick him up.

"I can't believe you've never been in the clinic." Riley stares at him with wide eyes. "What about when you got tackled during flag football in gym and hurt your shoulder?"

Lucas shrugs, brushing it off. "Not that big a deal."

"What about when Zay and Maya broke that beaker in chemistry and you got cut up helping clean it up?"

"Just a scratch."

"What about when you threw up in home ec after the bad cookie incident?"

"Well, after I threw up I was fine."

She shakes her head at him, exhausted once again by his own insistence to be so nonchalant about his own well-being. Although he's ill and doesn't want her to catch it, he has to seriously fight the urge to reach out and take her hand. No matter how drained he's feeling, he knows it would make him feel better. It would provide a sense of comfort for both of them, as it always does.

He can tell she's having the same reservations. She glances down at his hand resting in his lap before gently patting his shoulder instead. "Whatever. Now you have. And now you're going to go and get some well-needed rest."

Even though he's already stressing about the work he's going to have to make up, rest admittedly does sound nice. Riley rubbing his shoulder soothingly is already making him feel a little better.

The nurse eventually calls him up to let him know that his caretaker has arrived and hand him a hall pass. He takes it and walks Riley out of the clinic, saying goodbye to her in the hall before going in opposite directions. Without their usual hug or kiss on the cheek, it doesn't feel like a proper goodbye.

After signing out with the main office, Lucas heads out dejectedly into the September chill. He slogs to the carpool lane, surprised to see a familiar but unexpected vehicle waiting in park. Rather than his mother's dark blue Sedan, a polished, silver hatchback awaits him.

The passenger side window rolls down as he approaches. He squints, confused. "Topanga? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" she says offhandedly. "Here to pick you up. From what I hear, you're feeling a little sick?"

"Just a little," he mutters. "But why are you here?"

She flips her hair over her shoulder, her expression shifting into a resolute glare. Lucas gets the feeling that's the expression she wears when she makes four-hundred pound men confess to their crimes.

"I may have had Cory make sure to put me as an emergency contact. I may have discussed the notion with your mother during our family dinner. All of this is quite possible, but there's no proof of how it all came to be. The bottom line is, I got the call, and here I am to pick you up." She smiles—friendly with just a hint of a threat—and pats the passenger seat. "Hop in."

Lucas figures it's not worth an argument. Especially not against Topanga. Besides, if he's being perfectly honest with himself he's glad that she's as fond and protective of him as she is. The Matthews have always felt like more of a family to him than his own.

He climbs into the car, dropping his backpack on the floor at his feet and buckling his seatbelt. He immediately returns his hands to his lap, trying not to spread any germs. "Sorry about this. I don't want to get anyone else sick."

"Oh, no," Topanga laughs, pulling out of the carpool lane and heading towards the road. "I don't get sick."

Lucas is even more relieved when she takes him back to the Matthews apartment rather than dropping him off at his house. She ushers him in and confiscates his bag, going into full mom mode and conducting a thorough examination of his symptoms. Lucas can't remember the last time he took his own temperature. He's not sure his family even owns a thermometer, and if they do he sure as hell doesn't know where it is.

In typical Topanga fashion, she has no qualms about invading his personal space, reaching forward and touching underneath his jaw to feel his neck. She clicks her tongue in disappointment, shaking her head. "Your lymph nodes are swollen, naturally. And look at your face. The last time I saw you so flushed was when Cory and I caught you kissing Riley goodbye after your second official date and you nearly passed out from embarrassment. You remember that?"

He'd rather not, but he guesses it's a good sign that Topanga speaks fondly of the memory. "Unfortunately, yes."

She cleans off the thermometer at the sink, walking back over to him with a glass of water and two small pills. "Fever reducer. Breaking this fever is my first plan of attack. Then, you are changing into these sweats and getting into bed and resting for the rest of the day. Do you understand me?"

He nods, taking the water and taking the pills despite how much it hurts to swallow. He hands her back the glass and she passes him a pair of sweatpants in return. "Where exactly am I supposed to go?"

"Riley's room, of course," Topanga says matter-of-factly. At the uncertain look on his face, she gives him an entertained one in return. "Am I supposed to act as though I don't think you've ever been on her bed before?"

He blinks, trying to figure out how to get out of this conversation without putting his foot in his mouth. "You know, normally I'd have something relatively safe to say in response to this, but my brain is not working at the moment."

She laughs, patting his arm affectionately and nodding him towards the hall. "Change. Sleep. Rest. I'll come check on you in a little bit. Go."

He follows instructions, changing into the sweatpants he figures must belong to Cory and stripping his jacket and button up so he's down to his blue t-shirt. Honestly, just swapping into more comfortable clothes helps loads.

It's a little strange at first to be in Riley's bed without also being with Riley, but her room has become such a place of security for him that it doesn't take long for him to adjust. He doesn't have a lot of time to dwell on it in any case, seeing how the moment he crawls under the covers and lets himself relax he's astounded by how exhausted he is. There's not even enough energy in him to worry about how he's missing pre-calculus.

The last thing he coherently registers is how the pillows smell like Riley before he passes out.

Despite her best efforts to be attentive in class, all Riley can think about for the remainder of the school day is how Lucas is doing at home. She wants to text him and check up on him, but knows she has to let him rest so she resists. But it's real challenge.

She honestly cannot believe he brought himself to school looking and feeling so terrible. Education is important to him, she knows that's true, but there's a line and she's started to wonder how often he's going to try and cross it. Classes are significant, but not at the expense of his physical health. She doesn't want this to become a trend.

The moment the bell rings signaling the end of the day she's out of the building, flying down the steps to the subway and not bothering to wait for Farkle and Smackle like she usually does. The faster she gets home, the faster she can call Lucas and make sure he's actually resting.

Riley's so preoccupied on this mission that when she does storm through the front door and drop her bag on the floor by the couch, she hardly registers her mother sitting in the armchair. Normally, she'd be off at work and dressed for success, but she's working from home today in her comfortable clothes for some strange reason.

Topanga only gets her attention when she actually calls after her. "Riley, wait a minute!"

"Sorry, mom, can't talk," she says over her shoulder, making her way to her room and pulling open the door. "I have to check on—,"

The end of her sentence is caught in her throat as she realizes she's not going to have to call Lucas at all. He's right there in front of her, tucked in her bed and completely knocked out.

Confronted with the reality of him once again, she's at a loss for what to do. She wants to ask how he's feeling, but she doesn't want to disturb him. And she's admittedly having trouble processing how he ended up here when he's supposed to be at home.

She backs away from the room and gently recloses the door, stepping sheepishly back into the main room. Topanga raises an eyebrow at her, amused. "Isn't it great when we listen to our mothers? Doesn't that usually procure good results?"

"What is he doing here?" she asks, wandering over and plopping onto the couch. She takes a grape from the bowl Topanga has out in front of her. "Isn't Mrs. Friar worried about him?"

"We've talked, don't worry. It's best to put patients in the most soothing environment possible when trying to make them feel better. Hence, why people often send them home to recover. That's all I did. Just brought him home."

There's a special place in Riley's heart reserved for Lucas Friar, but there's also this weird place in her stomach that either flips or gets very warm whenever he's brought up. It's warm now, thinking about how her mother considers their home his home. Thinking about how he probably considers it as such too.

"Is he okay? What is your professional opinion?"

Topanga pushes some hair out of her face, expression focused. "Flu-like symptoms. Gave him some over-the-counter stuff to break the fever. We'll try to feed him something during dinner, but we don't want to risk anything that may cause the nausea to go from merely a symptom to a premonition."

Riley blinks. "I don't know what that means."

"We don't want him to throw up."

"Okay, well, that I get." She clasps her hands together, twiddling her thumbs for a moment before getting to her feet. "Well, guess I better… go keep an eye on him…"

She and Topanga lock eyes, testing each other, before Riley leaps to her feet and makes a mad dash for the hall. Her mother is faster, cutting her off in the doorway and taking her shoulders, spinning her back around. "Oh no, no, no. You think I'm letting you get sick, too? Not in this lifetime. You can do your homework out here."

"But—,"

"Don't but me, young lady. I will not have two sick children around here. Trust Dr. Topanga." She crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows. "Yeah, that's right. I could've been a doctor."

"You would've been a kickass doctor," Riley agrees.

Topanga smiles, sitting Riley back on the couch. She picks her backpack up off the floor and tosses it in her lap. "Glad we're on the same page."

Riley sits obediently for what feels like eons, attempting to concentrate on her homework but effectively distracted by worrying about Lucas. Wondering if he's feeling any better. Subtly obsessing over the fact that he's only a few feet away in her bed and she isn't allowed to see him. It's a new kind of punishment, and she did nothing to deserve it.

Cory returns with Auggie just as Topanga gets up to start on dinner, getting debriefed on the situation. He comments with relief that it's a good thing they all got their flu shots as a family, and Riley has to hold back the urge to point out that she's still, for some reason, not allowed to see Lucas despite this well-known fact. But she keeps her mouth shut.

Once her father and brother disappear to their rooms and Topanga gets deep into cooking dinner, Riley takes her chance. She slowly puts her notebook down and gets to her feet, tip-toeing towards the hall and stepping around the floorboards she knows have a tendency to creak. She's just treading up onto the second step when her mother clears her throat, tossing a look over her shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Riley looks back and forth between her bedroom and her mother, debating whether or not she could make a run for it. Knowing Topanga, she'd develop the ability to teleport and still beat her to the door. Instead, she resorts to begging, silently holding up her hands and giving her mother a pleading look.

Topanga is a tough cookie to break, but a few moments of the puppy dog eyes does the trick. She sighs, holding out the spoon pointedly. "You have ten minutes."

Riley jumps excitedly, mouthing a thank you and disappearing back into the hall. She steps into her room and shuts the door before her mother can change her mind.

It's gotten darker since she first got home, but she doesn't bother to turn on the lights. He's still sleeping, and she doesn't want to do anything that might disrupt his rest. He's been tired a lot lately, and that was before the illness set in. If he's finally getting some sleep, she doesn't want to be the reason he loses that.

Tentatively, she climbs onto the bed as carefully and quietly as she can manage. Settling down cross-legged on the right side up by the pillows, she takes a deep breath and relaxes. Seeing him, knowing he's actually resting, she feels like she can unwind again.

It's hard to tell in the dim light, but she thinks he looks better. Minimally, but still better. Although she doesn't want to risk waking him, she reaches forward and lightly presses her hand to his forehead. He's not on fire anymore. That's a good sign.

"You shouldn't be in here," he grumbles suddenly, making her pull her hand away in spite of herself.

She's not sure how conscious he really is, considering he won't open his eyes and his voice sounds a little raspy, like he's half asleep. Still, just hearing him speak makes her smile instinctively. "Well, it's my room, so I think I have the right to be in here whenever I want."

He hums in annoyance, frowning slightly. She laughs, finding his hand and taking it in her own. It's so natural a gesture for her she doesn't even realize she's done it.

There's a moment where he almost pulls away. "I don't want to get you sick."

"I got my flu shot. I think I'll survive."

"That's not going to do a lot of good if you're making an effort to get my germs all over you."

"Lucas," she says sweetly, a hint of condescension in her voice to get the point across. "There's a good chance you were contagious before you started showing symptoms, and we hold hands every day. We hug every day. We kiss every day. If this flu is coming for me, it's definitely already in my system."

He's silent for a long moment. She's got him.

"I guess if you want the flu, there's nothing I can do to stop you. But let the record show I tried."

"Noted," she giggles. After a moment of hesitation, she scoots closer and nudges him to sit up slightly. He doesn't argue as she guides his head into her lap, brushing some hair from his forehead affectionately. She wonders if maybe she should be grossed out by the fact that he's all sweaty, but she knows that means the fever is breaking so all she can really feel about it is relief. "How are you feeling?"

He mumbles incoherently, but the message is clear. Not great.

"Topanga wants to break my fever first. I think it's working, because at least I'm not simultaneously freezing and melting anymore. Only now I feel like I took a bath in my own sweat." He pauses, grimacing at his own words. "Sorry, that's gross. I don't think my brain works when I'm like this. Also, sorry about your sheets, pretty sure they must be disgusting."

She doesn't know how to make it clear that she literally doesn't care at all about her sheets, or her room, or the entire state of New York as long as he's feeling better. She has no idea how to articulate that, so she just jokes instead. "Is your brain ever working?"

He pouts, making her crack up. "Hey."

"Hi."

His eyes flutter open, gazing up at her tiredly. That place in her stomach flips right on cue. "I'm sick, be nice."

She smiles softly at him, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. "At least you admit it."

"What do you think Topanga is going to do next? Like, I trust her and all, but I'm also a little scared of what methods she's going to take to fix me."

"All she told me was we're going to feed you next. Probably something like toast or oatmeal. You know, something plain."

His expression is deadpan. "Oh boy. Yum."

Riley is genuinely fascinated by the fact that he can be so cute even when he's so sick.

They sit in silence for a few moments, Riley combing through his hair and Lucas's eyes drifting closed again. There's a sense of peace between the two of them that Riley has always been aware of, and grown very fond of over the years. When they're together, everything feels settled.

"You know," Lucas slurs, obviously teetering the line of consciousness again. "I'm wearing your dad's pants."

Riley grins, nodding. "And how's that going for you?"

"Weird. I'm trying not to think about it. The nausea is a good distraction." He smirks when she laughs, adjusting the hand that's holding hers to brush his thumb over her knuckles. "Tell me about your day."

"Nothing super interesting happened," she says offhandedly.

"I don't care," he mumbles. "I want to hear about it. I want to hear you talk. Tell me about it."

More warmth, spreading through her like wildfire. She smiles bashfully, a blush coloring her cheeks as she clears her throat. "Should I start before or after I handed you over to the feds? Farkle said he'd bring you notes from bio, by the way. He said he'd give you the lecture this weekend when you're feeling better."

"Mm. Tempting. Sounds like a fun, wild weekend." He sighs, turning over slightly and nuzzling his head more comfortably against her leg. "Start at the beginning."

She glances at the clock on her bedside table. It's been a lot longer than ten minutes, but Topanga is nowhere in sight. In retrospect, she wonders if Topanga was really ever going to stop her anyway.

Riley adjusts the blanket over his shoulder, smoothing it down before launching into her day. Starting from the beginning, as he requested. It's funny how even when he's sick, talking to him has this cathartic effect on her. Like for a rare moment, when she's talking someone is really listening.

When she talks, Lucas is listening. In sickness and in health.