Ratchet coughed and sputtered, his throat raw from how much he'd been doing it over the past few days. He weakly reached for the glass of water Clank had left him at the bedside, but it proved too heavy for his aching joints and slipped from his grasp to the floor, shattering.

He groaned to himself, knowing that no one was home to clean that but him. He hated being sick. He had one of those immune systems that always seemed impenetrable, but as soon as something did get through, no matter how simple the illness he would be out of it for days. So it was right now, him having caught a strain of the common cold while galavanting in Rivet's dimension and going nowhere soon, forcing Clank to take his place as ambassador for a fledgling galactic government.

With no small amount of effort he forced himself to sit up in the bed and bring his feet over the edge to carefully touch the floor, making sure not to touch any glass shards. He struggled to his feet next, wobbly standing and appreciating how the air felt on his feverish body, his clothes save for his boxers having been abandoned in the wake of his fever.

With step after labored step he made his way to the closet to retrieve the broom and dust pan, his fevered mind not making it easy though. The first door he tried turned out to be the bathroom, while the second was a linen closet. The third ended up being that same bathroom, letting him know he was now lost in his own home. His head spun, illness welling up inside before he felt his balance go.

He tumbled through the air, the part of him that could think straight wondering if the floor would feel cool to the touch after he hit it.

He never did though, a pair of strong arms stopping him halfway down. He opened his eyes to see who his savior was, and saw the amazingly deep blue eyes of an angel staring down at him. He smiled into them.

"So pretty." He muttered before passing out in her arms.

Rivet pushed down her blush at being called pretty by the delirious man in her grip and instead focused on getting him back in bed where he belonged. Clank had asked her to stop by and make sure he was ok since he'd be gone longer than he'd initially thought, but she hadn't expected to stumble upon him about to fall on top of a pile of glass.

She laid him down and drew up his covers (Though not before admiring just how fit he was, because damn she could grind meat on those abs) and got a cool washcloth on his forehead before cleaning the mess he had left behind.

With that done she got him a new glass of water and mixed in some fever medication that had been prescribed, making sure he drank every last drop.

Hours passed, and still she was there next to his bed. Every grunt and groan was answered, his washcloth replaced as needed the entire time. Even once Clank had returned she didn't shirk what she now viewed as her duty to see him back to good health. Here was the guy who had come along and helped save her whole universe, not like she could just leave him there to suffer.

Late that night while he tossed and turned in bed, he started muttering to himself, drawing her attention from the little device she had busied herself tinkering with.

"What is it Hotshot? Need some water?" She asked, expecting at most a nod. Instead his eyes lazily opened.

"Rivet?" His voice was dry and crackly.

"Don't worry, I'm here." She assured him and helped him drink some water.

"Thanks." He said and relaxed again.

"No problem. Now go back to sleep, you need the rest." She commanded him softly but firmly, making him smile.

"You sound like a mother." She was befuddled by this and stunned just long enough for him to talk again. "I love that about you."

She could only sit and stare wide eyed at the once again slumbering lombax, him having gone out like a light immediately.

She still had a lot to sort out in her head. Where she was going to go and what she was going to do now that there was no emperor in her way being paramount.

But figuring out just how she felt about this new lombax just keeps moving up the list.