A/N: To all the sweethearts who wished me a happy birthday and/or reviewed the last chapter. Thank you so much! I was really feeling down on a day that was supposed to be happy. Hearing from you all made it better. I hope you are all safe and well...Now on with the story! ~Muse~

I spend my sick day doing household chores, including a few things I've put off for a while. I start by going to the local lawn and garden shops, buying flowers and shrubs to plant on my side of the duplex. I then start planting some flowers in pots on my porch and end up getting rid of fallen sticks and weeds in my backyard. I'm turning my once barren backyard into my sanctuary that it becomes my own place of serenity. To watch the squirrels play, to absorb the sweet birdsong as if it were nectar, these are the simple joys of the backyard that is rich in nature.

As the day progresses, I make my way back into the house and organize my closets. There was a calmness to cleaning the house, feeling the furniture glide over the wooden floor and the soft sound of the broom as the house is cleaned it feels lighter and brighter, becoming a place that invites deep breaths. I believe when you have learned this skill you can transfer it to many areas of life: emotional, practical, and academic. After all, that comes before the care of others, regardless of how much you desire to do so.

I try to immerse myself in meditation and physical labor so that my mind doesn't have time to wander and think about him... about Captain Grimes... Rick... Except that late at night, when I lay here alone in my bed, I don't have anything to distract me from my thoughts. I'm conflicted, and I feel guilty, and whenever I think of him, I feel an ache begin between my legs. It's late and I cry myself to sleep once more.

I dream of Daryl, he approaches me smiling, looking handsome in his uniform and I cringe with shame when I see him; but Daryl doesn't condemn me. He smiles and tells me he loves me. He tells me he wants me to be happy. He tells me he wants me to live my life. He kisses me goodbye one last time, and when I wake up, I feel lighter than I have in two years.

I go to work and the first thing I do is say good morning when Rick wakes up.

"You left me." He says and turns from me.

I stop breathing and guilt consumes me because he's right. He needed me and I left him. And before I can even think about it, I'm next to him and I'm apologizing and kissing him and crying, because I know I never want him to feel that again. And his lips are soft and welcoming, and they meet mine with abandon. Then he licks my tears, and I know he is forgiving me. I apologize for falling apart on him. I'm the caregiver here, right? But he tells me to stop because the only thing he's sorry for is making me cry. He eats breakfast and I bathe him, and he's ready for me before I even finish his back. The door is open, but I can't bring myself to care, because I don't want to leave his side. We're as quiet and stealthy as mice, and the boldness of it makes me squirm and want to rub my legs together.

But then I have to go because I have other patients. I lean over to brush a kiss against his lips, and he rubs against my breast. The low moan that escapes me is full of my need and desire, and it takes everything I have not to attack him right then and there. He begs me to stay, but I can't, and I promise to return. I already know that I always will.

I flutter through my day, distracted but happy. I check on him later, and I see that they've changed one of his casts, but he's sleeping. I decide to go home and shower, and get some dinner, before coming back later. I need to come back when there aren't so many people around to ask questions, although when I do return it is with a book, because reading to an injured soldier is always a noble thing to do.

He is still sleeping, so I sit in the room and read for a while. I go to the bathroom, and when I return, I see that he is awake, and I find myself smiling. I can see by the moonlight streaming through the windows that he is smiling, and he says, "You came back."

I tell him that I can't stay away because it's god's honest truth and his smile gets even bigger.

"Come here," he says, and there is nowhere else I want to be.

He touches my cheek, my nose, lips, and chin, "Beautiful." He says and I kiss his fingertips.

He touches my hair, and I don't even mind because this is him, and he's touching me finally. He pulls me to him and our lips meet and forget all the old proverbs about boys and girls, because he's sugar and spice, soft lips and hot tongue, and I melt into him. I've moved on top of him because I need more, I need to feel all of him against me, to hold him to me, and to stop being alone. The taste of his skin under my tongue is spicy and masculine, and I plant open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and behind his ear, reveling in his body's reaction to me and the power it gives me. I sit up and bring his hand to touch me. His fingertips play me like an expert, and I lose myself in the sensations, rolling my hips and seeking friction against the ache between my legs with his hardness.

"I want to taste you," he says.

My heart skips a beat, and my panties are now drenched. I climb off him and remove my scrubs, undergarments, and arrange myself above his face, and oh my god, and, this is…it's… it's… unbelievable, and I want to scream! His mouth is soft and wet, and his tongue probes me and teases me, bringing me ever higher and higher. He is going to kill me with pleasure. In no time, I'm bucking and grinding, and he's licking and sucking, and then ecstasy pulses through me, and I'm moaning and whimpering as he slowly brings me back to down to Earth. I kiss him because I need to thank him, and I can taste myself on his tongue, mixed with his own sugar and spice, but I need more, he needs more, and I reach my hand down and stroke him. I hear him whimper in distress when I move away, but as soon as I take him into my mouth, I hear his groan of pleasure and smile. He is large and pulsing in my mouth, and I love the way he tastes and feels, but I need more, he needs more. I straddle him once again, and slowly lower myself onto him. Oh God...! nothing has ever felt more wonderful than him inside of me. It is so right, so perfect. I slowly move, sliding him in and out of me, and enjoy every strong, thick inch of him, stretching and filling me. As our rhythm builds, the world falls away. It is just us, and I'm feeling, feeling, feeling, for the first time in so long, and then he's begging me to come with him, and his fingers find me, and brush against me once, twice, and I'm undone and crying out his name.

He's thrusting deep and hard and I hear him chanting, "Angel, angel, angel."

I clench and shudder above him as I feel him thrust into me a final time, and I collapse against his chest. When I catch my breath, I move to curl against his side. I trace idle patterns on his chest until he falls asleep. I stay with him a while longer, but I know that I cannot be found here later, so I kiss him lightly before stealing away, like a criminal, but one with a very willing accomplice.

I decide not to go home, and I grab a cup of coffee and early breakfast at the twenty-four-hour diner a block away from the hospital. I'm ravenous, and I find myself smiling constantly as I re-experience our time together. Every time I wrap my lips around my fork, I imagine it's him, and I know that I can't wait until the next time. I feel empowered and sexy, and freer than I have a million years. My favorite waitress named Sasha refills my coffee and gives me a knowing smile. I blush and look down, and she just laughs and walks away, but I know she knows what I'm feeling, and it's a sisterhood of sorts.

I go back to work at the start of my shift, and I should be tired, but I'm not. I'm eager. I watch him sleep for a few minutes, and then I see that he is waking up, and I start walking to him. The most glorious smile graces his face, and I ask if it's for me.

"Good morning, my angel," he says, and I laugh and ask him why he calls me that.

He pauses like he's trying to come up with a reason, and in the intervening time, I've reached the bedside.

He responds, "Because that's what you are," and I laugh at the simplicity of his answer, but he smiles with me, in on the joke, because we both know that there's no explaining something like this.

I feed him, and I can tell he is responding to me, and once again, it makes me feel powerful, sexy. When he's done, I carefully wipe his face and ghost a kiss across his lips, whispering, "I'll be right back."

I send in the orderly to help him relieve himself because I know he won't want me to do that for him.

While I wait, Dr. Greene approaches and tells me that he's going to remove the bandages from Rick's eyes. I feel my heart stutter with fear and anticipation. What if he can't see? How would he deal with being permanently disabled? And what if he can? Will the sight of me be all that he expected? Has he imagined me as a supermodel type? Will he like my dark skin? Will I disappoint him?

I go back to him, and he asks about his bath, and I can hear the happiness in his voice. I try to smile and I tell him that no, they are coming to remove the bandages from his eyes. I can tell by the set of his jaw that he's worried.

He turns to me and pleads, "Stay with me."

I smile and tell him the truth, as I also make it a promise, "Why would I ever leave?"

Dr. Greene comes in and begins explaining things to him. I close the blinds, dimming the light in the room. I can tell he's nervous, so I reach for his hand, and I don't care that I'm mostly holding on to the plaster cast; I tangle my fingers with him, and he squeezes. Dr. Greene finally removes the final bandages and pads from Rick's eyes. He opens them and blinks as if in pain. What little light is in the room still feels bright to him, and I feel hope flutter in my chest. He blinks several times, and I see him search the room.

His eyes land on me and he whispers, "Beautiful."