Rick's concrete cell was going hot and cold in turns. His legs simply refused to support him a moment longer, shaking like a newborn fawn. He tumbled forward as he lowered himself to the narrow cot, too tired to even remove his boots. The feeble bed let out a groan of protest, echoed by Rick's own lips. Parched and exhausted, he started up at the ceiling.
"Shit," the whispered word hurt to even speak. He felt as though he'd swallowed glass.
"Thought that might be the case," the even keel of Michonne's voice startled him. He winced as he turned his head, regarding the woman leaning on the drab entrance of his room.
Her locs were pulled up into an unceremonious top knot, her arms bare. In her hands, Michonne was holding a canteen and a crinkled plastic bag.
"You shouldn't be here," Rick admonished, though his heart skipped at just the sight of her.
"Mm," her answer was noncommittal.
She stepped further into his space, pulling the curtain snug behind her. Rick became acutely aware of the sudden privacy the threadbare barrier provided. His elation was short lived however, when Michonne approached him, crouching to inspect him closely.
"Michonne, back up," the instruction came harsher than he meant it. Fear was flooding him.
"It's not the flu," she remarked lightly, laying a cooling hand on his forehead. "You'd be much worse by now."
"You don't know that," he mumbled, doing his best not to lean into her touch.
Michonne chuckled, a light, tinkling sound. "You've been feeling like shit for at least a day and a half by my count, Rick. And you're tough, but not tough enough to stay on your feet with that flu. So…" She stood up, pushing gently at his legs to make space for herself.
"You've been watching me?" Maybe it was the sickness, but the question hung in the air between them.
Michonne smiled. "Someone has to," she said, going to work on removing his boots.
Rick would have liked to tell her to stop, that she didn't owe him this kindness, that she'd ought to be resting herself. The will simply left him as her nimble fingers set about their task. She had his shoes off in half a minute. She began to worry at his gun belt, removing it carefully. Rick froze.
"Best thing for this would be a nice hot bath," she looked regretful for a moment. "But I have the next best thing."
The thought of being in a bath in Michonne's presence was appealing enough. Rick focused on keeping his breathing even while Michonne continued her task. When she lifted the canteen to his lips, the cool water was a welcome luxury. She wet a strip of fabric and began to dab at his face and neck. Rick couldn't help but sigh.
"Better?" She asked, amused as his skin ran scarlet.
He nodded, eyes fluttering shut.
"Not so fast," she chided, a laugh dancing on her voice. "Got one more thing for you."
The plastic bag made an appearance. Michonne reached in, drawing out a handful of chalky shapes. It took Rick a moment to place them.
"Vitamins?" He chuckled.
"Flintstones," she confirmed. "Best I could do on short notice. Most of these are for Carl," she continued. "But I thought we could spare a few for our sheriff."
Rick chewed them dutifully, warm under her watchful gaze. "Now what?" He asked, ignoring the clench in his chest.
"Now you sleep, Rick," Michonne fussed with his blanket, tugging it up over him. "Get well."
Atop the cover, her hand found his, squeezing gently.
"Will you stay?" Rick's eyes grew heavy. "Not safe out there…" he attempted to build his argument but the words died, sleep overtaking him.
"Yeah, Rick," Michonne's smile filled his mind even as he dozed off. "I'll be here."
He awoke to sun streaming through his open cell, sure he'd dreamed it all. Rick sat up, groping for the canteen, noticing the bag of children's vitamins only after he emptied the container in several deep gulps. He felt better, though still exhausted. Gingerly, he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. His fever seemed to be gone.
"You're up," the voice this time was Carl's. His son looked relieved as he stared his father down with sharp eyes. "How are you feeling?"
Rick managed a grin. "I'm feeling great," he said.
"Told you," Michonne appeared, resting her hands on Carl's shoulders. "The vitamins are magic." Her hair was still up, though she'd changed since Rick saw her last. The sun played off her skin in a way that was liable to blind him if he looked for too long.
For a moment, it looked like Carl believed her. "We have to go plant," he observed, hiding his smile beneath Rick's old sheriff hat.
Nodding, Rick made to stand up. Michonne stopped him.
"Not so fast," she stilled him. "Carl please go refill the canteen and meet us outside, ok?"
The boy nodded, hastening to comply. Rick stared at Michonne, feeling warm again all over.
"You heading out?" He asked. It was all he could do to hide his disappointment.
She noticed. "I'm staying right here," she announced. "Got planting to do. Our farmer caught a cold."
Michonne smiled. "He's on observation duty today. I'm in charge."
"Is that right?" Rick asked, blushing again, fighting a smile.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll listen," Michonne said. "You're going to clean up. Then you're going to sit in the sun while I keep the ship upright. Deal?"
"Guess I got no choice," there was a curious pressure in his chest now, like a balloon expanding.
"Bring the vitamins," she instructed, spinning to lift a chair for him. "C'mon," she gestured, starting off.
Slowly, Rick followed, feeling better already.
