Here we go. Like I always say, I use real science and medical explanations.

PS. I rewrote chapter one. it was probably the weakest chapter in this story. nothing changed in the plot, but it just reads a lot better now,

But you were mine
Staring in the blackness at some distant star
The thrill of knowing how alone we are, unknown we are
To the wild and to the both of us
I confessed the longing I was dreaming of

Some better love, but there's no better love
Beckons above me and there's no better love
That ever has loved me, there's no better love
Darling, feel better love
Feel better love

And I've never loved a darker blue
Than the darkness I have known in you, own from you
You, whose heart would sing of anarchy
You would laugh at meanings, guarantees, so beautifully
When our truth is burned from history
By those who figured justice in fond memory, witness me
Like fire weeping from a cedar tree
Know that my love would burn with me
We'll live eternally

Better Love by Hozier

Chapter 29 - Only for a Moment

As you take in your surroundings, you feel the piercing gaze of your fellow group members on you. Rick is diligently tending to his garden, Carol is washing clothes with purpose, and Merle, the quintessential rebel, sits on the prison steps, puffing away on a cigarette. Even the new members have quickly acclimated to their assigned tasks in the outdoor kitchen. However, their combined choir of oohs and aahs only adds to the pressure as you endure yet another round of grueling training.

Slowly, you rise from the ground, brushing the dirt off your pants. Frustration simmers inside you as you stare up at Charles, whose imposing figure looms over you with years of battlefield experience under his belt, while you are just an ordinary civilian with no combat training.

"We've already covered the basics, now think it through," he says in a dispassionate tone, as though addressing one of his military cadets. You know that the skills he's teaching you could mean the difference between life and death in a world where danger lurks at every turn.

With a resolute expression, you turn to face him, your feet planted shoulder-width apart and your fists clenched tightly. You're ready to execute everything he has taught you, absorbing every word he has spoken.

Once more, you surge forward, your feet gliding across the ground with grace and precision, your movements swift and seamless. Your heart races with adrenaline, and your muscles ache with the strain of the intense training. You have been practicing with Charles for weeks now, and while your confidence and ability to take punches have improved, you know that you still have a long way to go.

Despite the challenges, you have become adept at anticipating Charles' moves and countering them, though not without some difficulty. Your movements have become more fluid and natural with each passing day, yet you still struggle to close the gap in strength.

As you aim for Charles' ribs, he seizes your hand and twists it sharply backward before knocking your feet out from under you with a single, effortless sweep. You crash to the ground with a resounding thud, feeling dazed and aching all over.

"That was good," Charles states approvingly, nodding in appreciation of your fighting spirit. You groan, slowly getting up on your knees and turning to face him.

"Alright, that's 'nuff, it's time for a time-out!" Merle bellows, standing up from the prison steps and putting out his cigarette. He approaches you, making the customary hand gesture for a break by forming a "T" shape with his palm facing upward over his prosthetic hand.

Charles leans back, arching his eyebrows in surprise, but Merle doesn't acknowledge him. He takes hold of your arms, hauling you to your feet and brushing off your pants as he does so.

"Yer givin' the Dixon name a mighty bad rap," he chides you with a grin, and you roll your eyes. He's been teasing you and referring to you as "Ms. Dixon" just to get under your skin.

"Let me tell ya somethin'- ya ain't gonna beat a man in a good old-fashioned brawl." Merle mutters in a low voice, ensuring that Charles can't overhear him.

"What are you trying to say?" you ask, scowling as you recognize Merle's misogynistic tendencies. "That I can't win just because I'm a girl?"

"Nah, it's 'cause you're puny and weak," he replies matter-of-factly. You make a face and yank your hand away, determined to prove him wrong.

But he pulls you back with another tug. "Listen here, sweet cheeks," he says, "the only way ya gonna win is to sucker punch 'im. Give 'im a good hit he won't see comin', that's when you finish him off for good."

You look at him, torn between wanting to pull away and recognizing that Merle knows street fighting, having taught Daryl. "How do I do it?" you ask hesitantly.

Merle gives you a sly smirk, slinging his prosthetic arm over his shoulder. "Gotta aim for the throat," he whispers, "and he'll be gaspin' for air like a fish outta water… you gotta use that opportunity to bust him right in the family jewels. That'll take him down faster than a greased pig at a county fair."

You turn back to the soldier, his black sweater, military pants, and combat boots adding to his imposing stature. He stands tall, legs apart, his eyes fixed on you and the older Dixon, his face expressionless. You wonder if he would be fooled by Merle's cheap tricks, but you nod your head at him anyways.

Returning to your training, you take a more measured approach this time, kicking and punching as you wait for an opening. When you swing for his face, he grabs your hand again and pulls you towards him, lifting his chin to look at you condescendingly. And then you see it - the opening.

Quickly, you swoop in, striking him right on his Adam's-apple with the edge of your other hand. He stumbles back, coughing and releasing your hand. Despite his momentary weakness, he still stands in his military stance, legs apart.

Without hesitation, you knee him right in the groin, causing the men around you to 'ooh!' in reaction. Charles groans in pain, his eyes almost rolling back in his head as he drops to his knees before you.

"Finish 'im!" Merle screams, his laughter echoing in the background.

As Merle cheers you on, you leap over Charles and position yourself behind him. Like you practice countless times, you slam your wrist to the buckle of your thigh holster, causing your hidden blade to slide out with a scraping sound. With a calculating smirk on your face, you grab the back of Charles' unkempt hair and pull his head back, pressing the blade of the knife to his throat. Charles doesn't say anything, except let out a groan of defeat.

You let out a triumphant hoot, retracting your blade back into your wrist, and doing a little dance as if you were a teenager again. Across the field, you catch sight of Rick's smiling face and Carl cheering and clapping for you.

After a few seconds of gloating, you take pity on him and bend over to help him to his feet. "Sorry, buddy, it's only fair," you tell him. After all, he had dropped you on your back countless times, and the bruises on your butt were proof of that.

As the sun slowly sets, casting a warm, orange glow over Rick's lush vegetation garden across the field, you sit on the steps of the prison next to Charles. It's peaceful to watch people from all walks of life coming together to work towards a common goal. The aroma of the evening meal being prepared wafts over, tantalizing your senses.

Charles leans back and stretches his legs out, holding an instant ice pack against his groin to ease his pain. You gently place your hand over his that he was using to prop himself up, knowing that there's nothing medically that you can do for him, aside from softening his bruised ego.

"If I weren't the one suffering, I would say good job," he mutters, his eyes fixed on the sunset.

"Thank you," you chuckle, glancing at his side profile. "You taught me well."

"I didn't teach you that trick, but it got the job done," he says, turning his gaze towards the fence, where the older Dixon and Jamie are on duty. You watch as they pierce through the heads of the walkers that have been increasingly piling up by the fence, and Jamie talks animatedly to Merle, causing them both to laugh loudly.

"I miss you," you utter the words that have been weighing heavily on your mind, the ache in your chest palpable. "We don't talk like we used to. You're my best friend, and I don't want to lose you." Ever since Charles confessed his love for you, things have been strained between you. You hope that time and distance will help heal the wounds, but with each passing day, the gap between you seems to grow wider.

Charles turns to you, setting the ice pack on the step beside him. "I miss you too," he admits, the emotionless mask he always wears slipping off his face. "I'm sorry I ruined our friendship," he says, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

"No, Charles, you didn't ruin anything. I'm sorry I hurt you too, but everything we did was in the name of love," you assure him, reaching over to hold his hand. "I know it won't be easy to go back to how things were, but I want us to try because you're one of the most important people in my life." Your voice quivers with emotion.

Charles's fingers tighten around yours as he nods. "You're the only person I have left, besides that fool," he says, pointing towards Jamie, causing you to chuckle.

As you both watch Jamie laughing with Merle, Charles's voice breaks the silence. "Do you trust me?" he asks, his eyes piercing yours.

"Of course, I do," you reply without hesitation, knowing that you've always trusted his judgment, even when you've questioned it.

"I think we should leave," he says, his paranoia creeping in.

"Is this about the RV?" you ask, remembering the news that Charles had brought to you a few days prior. He had lost the RV on a run with Jamie when the engine had burned out and caught on fire. His face had been emotionless, but you could tell he was upset. You had tried to reassure him by saying that there were plenty of other cars they could take, but you knew that finding another vehicle with a solar system like the RV's would be a challenge.

The RV breakdown wasn't the only issue plaguing your group. Despite your best efforts to keep a tight inventory, someone had been stealing from your medical supplies. You had counted and recounted with Doctor S, but some of the pain meds and antibiotics were missing. However, you didn't want to make any accusations, especially with so many new people in the group. So, you had started locking the infirmary cell, hoping that whoever had taken the meds needed them more than you did.

"It's not just about the RV," Charles declares, shaking his head. "My gut is telling me that we need to leave, and it hasn't led me astray yet," he states firmly.

"Why now? Winter is almost over," you question, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

"Look around you," Charles says, gesturing towards the growing herd of walkers outside the fence. "Every day, there are more and more of them. The living attracts them, just like it was at Fort Benning. I think it's time for us to move on." Charles calmly and rationally explains his reasoning, and you suspect he's sensing something similar. Part of you can't help but remember how well-prepared he was when the military base fell. Perhaps he's right, and it's time to leave this place behind.

"I suggested building spikes all around the fence to keep the walkers from leaning on it too much, but the council rejected my idea for a lack of manpower and resources. But I still think you should warn Rick about it. He listens to you," you advise, scanning the camp for the former leader.

"I already told Rick," Charles replies, his annoyance evident in his voice as he implores you to agree. "He's not seeing clearly, he just... only wants to farm."

"I'm not saying no," you say in a gentle voice, hoping to persuade Charles. "But I need some time to wrap up my affairs here before we make any decisions." You know that you sort of have a husband now, and you can't make decisions without considering Daryl's opinions.

You see Charles's eye twitch, and you know he wants to argue, but instead, he lets out a deep sigh and says, "Alright," disappointment palpable in his voice. His expression shifts from hopeful to crestfallen, and you can see the frustration etched on his face.

You also let out a sigh, realizing that convincing Daryl to leave with you for D.C. won't be easy. You're aware that he cares about the people here, and leaving without him is not an option.

The two of you sit in silence, watching the sun dip below the horizon and the community bustling around you, as the weight of the discussion looms heavy on your mind.

For the past week, every night has been spent in Daryl's guard tower, keeping his bed warm even while he's on watch duties. The idea of living like this forever fills you with contentment - waking up every morning next to Daryl's warm body, nestled within the confines of a small and uncomfortable prison mattress. And every night after the aftermath of passion, with your body still humming with pleasure and your heart bursting with love, you listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat until you drift off to sleep, your skin still damp with sweat.

But you know that this can never be your reality, no matter how much you yearn for the simple pleasures of being with Daryl, day in and day out. In another universe, perhaps, there is a version of you and Daryl living a normal life, free from the curse of the walker virus, where your only concerns are trivial arguments over whose turn it is to wash the dishes. Nonetheless, you feel lucky to have found your person in this world, and you vow to do everything in your power to keep him.

Daryl's voice interrupts your thoughts, his fingers tracing soothing patterns up and down your bare back as you lie naked against his chest, cocooned in his warm embrace. "One minute, he's tryin' to guess what ah did before all this," Daryl murmurs, his words laced with a tinge of sorrow. "And the next, he's gone."

You lift your head to gaze up at Daryl, your thoughts drifting to Beth, the youngest of the Greene family, who just lost her boyfriend Zack. Since your reunion with Daryl, he no longer goes on long runs or chases after the Governor. He focuses on staying local, helping to find new survivors, or hunting with his brother.

"How did Beth take it?" you ask.

"She seemed aight, almost numb to it all, ya know what I mean?" he replies, and you nod in agreement. Today was supposed to be an ordinary run, a little further out into the city to a military camp. From what you had heard from Jamie, the roof of the building had collapsed, and Zack got bitten as walkers rained down upon them like a deadly hailstorm before the entire structure crumbled.

"We're all becoming desensitized to death these days," you remark. You can sense the weight of sadness and self-blame sitting heavily on Daryl's shoulders. His kindness and selflessness often lead him to feel immense guilt, even when a situation is out of his control.

He hums in acknowledgement, and you gently caress his cheek, planting a tender kiss on his chest. You nestle deeper into his warm blanket, pressing your bare body against his, hoping to offer some comfort in your embrace.

"Glenn congratulated me today." Daryl speaks up, his voice vibrating beneath your head, "He said Jamie told him that we got married." There's a strange tone in his voice that you can't quite place.

You let out a groan and contort your face in annoyance. Well evidently Merle has spilled the beans to his new buddy Jamie, and if Jamie's big mouth knows, then surely the entire group must know as well. You take a moment to compose yourself before looking up at Daryl.

"Are we not?" you ask, gazing into his eyes, hoping to read the answer. "The true principle of marriage is promising forever, forsaking all others, and until death do us part."

"That's what you asked me, and that's what I promised," you tell him, because it's exactly how you feel in your heart. "But if that was not your intention, then I'm okay with whatever you're ready for." Even if it means you would feel disappointed, you will accept whatever he's willing to give. You understand that he may have spoken in the heat of passion and that after fifteen years apart, jumping into marriage may not be his immediate plan. Perhaps he wants to get to know you again.

"It ain't that... it's just..." he speaks up, after a brief pause. He hesitates, moving his fingers from your back to your cheeks and pushing your long hair aside. "I wanted to do it right, and I ain't even gotchu a ring."

You let out a surprised laugh and feel immense relief wash over you. "I don't need a ring," you smile, leaning over to press your lips to his softly. "So, you're okay with it... we're doing this, the whole husband and wife thing?" Your tone is hopeful as you seek his confirmation.

"It's always been the plan, ain't it?" he asks, his words pulling you back to a cherished memory long forgotten. Suddenly, you're transported back to the days of your youth, deep in the forest, nestled inside a cozy camping tent. You and Daryl had discussed your dreams and future plans, imagining a life together filled with endless possibilities.

"We can't rightly predict when our time's up, so why put things off?" Daryl's voice snaps you back to reality, and you realize that perhaps Zach's untimely death had stirred something in him.

You nod, your heart aching with bittersweet nostalgia. "But Daryl... I'm not the same girl I was back then, I've changed." you confess. Unlike him, you've shed your innocence along the way as you matured. However, he remains the same kind and sweet boy you fell in love with, now a fully grown man. Despite the harsh realities of the new world, he has held onto his authenticity, remaining true to himself and his values, just as he always has.

"I wantcha to change, and I'm glad for it," he says firmly, his hand returning to the bare skin of your back, his fingers trailing down your spine. "That innocent girl ya used to be back then, ain't gonna make it in this new world, and I need ya to survive it," he reassures you.

You nod, taking comfort in his words and the warmth of his embrace. Time is running out, and you know you need to address the pressing matter that's been weighing on your mind. With a deep breath, you gather the courage to voice your concerns, and he pulls you closer as his naked thighs slide between yours.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," you begin tentatively, "I thought we had more time to plan and discuss, but Charles thinks we should leave for D.C. soon, and I want you to come with me," you admit, your voice laced with urgency. This is a big decision, and you've been pondering how to approach the topic with him.

If he says no, you know you won't leave without him. But that would mean going against Charles and Jamie, who have sacrificed everything to get you this far. It's an unfair situation, but leaving him behind is simply not an option.

Your contemplation is cut short by Daryl's response. "Alright," he hums, his unwavering answer surprising you. Perhaps he had already considered this.

"Rick and our people are doin' good now, and this place is workin'," he continues, causing your stomach to tighten. "The crops are growin', and we even caught some wild pigs. Ain't nobody needin' me no more."

You notice he refers to the group as "our people" and "we," and you let out a sigh at his words. You know he truly cares for Rick and the group, and you hope he won't regret his decision.

"So, you're okay with that?" you ask, realizing that this is no longer just a group, but a community now. If they do things right, they could have a lasting life here.

Daryl's next words take your breath away. "You're my wife now, and wherever you go, I go."

Your heart is in your throat as you lean up and press your lips to his.

You can't help but laugh as his lips continue to chase yours, and you whisper tenderly, "I love you, and I go where you go too," when your lips break apart.

"By the way," you begin with a chuckle, "your brother has been teasing me nonstop about this whole Ms. Dixon thing." He raises his eyebrows at you, causing you to giggle even more.

"I can tell him to stop if he's makin' you feel uncomfortable," he says, and you scoff playfully, like you need help handling his brother's antics.

"I'm not uncomfortable, in fact, it has a pretty nice ring to it, don't you think?" You laugh and wiggle your eyebrows. "Dr. Alice H. Dixon."

His reaction is almost immediate, and you let out a yelp as he swiftly flips you over, his naked body pressing against yours. "Say that again," he whispers seductively into your ear, his lips trailing down to your neck. You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and quickly getting harder by the second.

"Daryl!" you laugh as he begins to ravish your neck, his passion igniting a fire within you. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him to you as if you can get any closer, and you know he's ready for round two.

You wink at Daryl across the outdoor kitchen as you both stand in line for breakfast. It was your idea to arrive early to avoid the crowds, as you're starving after the workout, he gave you last night. His sexual appetite seems to have settled down a bit, and you're grateful for the decent sleep you're getting after a round or two.

You scoop some oatmeal and berries onto your plate and make your way over to your husband, who's sitting on the outdoor bench. As you glance around, you notice Rick and Carl tending to the pigs across the field.

"What's your plan for today?" you ask as you eat your breakfast.

"I was thinkin' of heading back out," Daryl says between bites. "Saw some houses on our way back that we could take a look at."

You nod, knowing that there might still be some non-perishables to scavenge.

"Anythin' you want me to keep an eye out for?" he asks.

"I would love some coffee," you say with a smile. "Nothing fancy, just the instant kind will do."

Before he can respond, a loud popping noise echoes from deep within the prison. You both know it's gunfire, and Daryl is on his feet instantly, grabbing his crossbow.

"You stay here," he tells you, jumping over the bench as he sprints towards the entrance of the prison.

"Like hell I will," you say to yourself, grabbing your machete and following after him.

Inside the prison, chaos reigns as you're immediately confronted by a walker in the common area, and you swing, your blade connecting with its head. You quickly take in the scene and spot several familiar faces, including Jamie, Charles, Rick, and Daryl, who are all fighting off the undead and trying to guide the group to safety. As you move forward, your attention is drawn to a kid hiding under the stairs. You don't know his name, but you've seen him running around with the other children. You quickly swing your machete at a nearby walker before scooping up the child, who clings tightly to your neck as you fight your way back out through the crowd of panicked survivors.

You bark orders, urging everyone to return to their duties unless they're essential to the incident, knowing that the more people that gather, the higher the chances of them getting bitten. You locate the boy's guardian, who happens to be his uncle, and after ensuring that neither the child nor his uncle were bitten, you return to the prison.

Inside, Glenn and Jamie are busy carting off bodies while Merle watches idly. You can't help but wonder what triggered this sudden attack. The block is empty now, but just last night, you had been in that part of the cell checking on Ms. Jackson, who had a heart condition.

"It could be pneumococcal." Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Doctor S.'s voice coming from the upper level. His words immediately catch your interest.

"I have seen it before, on a walker outside the fence," Rick's voice echoes as you make your way up the stairs, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"It's like if you shake a soda can and pop the top, now imagine your head is the top," Doctor S. explains as you lean over for a closer look. Charles is crouched in front of a lifeless walker, prodding it with the tip of his knife.

Your heart almost stops at the grisly sight. "Oh my God!" you exclaim, grabbing Charles by the back of his shirt and yanking him up. "Everyone, this is code RED! Back up and evacuate this area immediately!" Your voice echoes in the empty space, urgency clear in your tone.

You turn towards the railing, panic setting in. "Drop those bodies and don't touch your face," you scream at a surprised Jamie and Glenn. "Go wash your hands immediately and put on a mask."

Turning back to face the rest of the group, Charles reads the look on your face, and he immediately springs into action like old times. "You heard the Doctor, now move it!" he hollers, ushering everyone out.

You back away, hand reaching for Daryl's. "Herschel, gather all the members of the council for an emergency meeting outside in five minutes," you order.

"How bad is it?" Daryl whispers as you rush out of the prison steps.

"Go wash your hands, put on a mask, and meet me here in five minutes. I'll tell you everything," you reply, your stomach tight as you separate from him. You had seen this before in Guinea, where your team was called to a small town where residents were dying in a similar manner – blood from the nose, eyes, and ears. Later, you learned that a young boy had killed a baboon and eaten it, and it had started with him.

In no time, everyone is out on the field, masks on and hands and faces scrubbed clean. You stand among them, your red scarf wrapped tightly around your face - the same scarf you wore the day you met Rick and his group.

"What we have in there," you begin, taking a step forward to assume center stage, "is a strain of the Spanish flu."

"Flu?" Daryl questions, confused. "How can someone die in a day just from the flu?"

"Because this is the motherload of all influenzas," you explain. "The Spanish flu didn't exist in 1918, but by 1920, it had become a pandemic that killed millions of people across the planet." Following your time in Guinea, when you received the opportunity to study infectious diseases, you based your master's thesis on it.

"The victims could die within hours of the first symptoms—horrific symptoms, not just aches and cyanosis, but coughing foamy blood from the lungs and bleeding from the nose, ears, and even eyes. Like the walker we saw in there," you continue, your voice low and urgent. You can see the fear in everyone's eyes, a reflection of your own.

"Maybe we got lucky, maybe these two cases are it," Doctor S. offers hopefully.

"No, it's airborne. That means we might all be infected, so keep wearing the masks at least until we know who is sick and who is not," you inform the group, your words heavy with gravity.

"We need to separate the young and the old since they're often the most vulnerable," Herschel suggests, and you nod in agreement.

Glenn speaks up, clearly frustrated. "Are you telling me that we survived all of this only to die from some flu?" You can understand his sentiment.

"This is worse," you reply with a sigh. "You have better chance fighting walkers out there than dealing with the Spanish flu."

Rick finally speaks up, his face disheartened. "So, what are we going to do?" he asks. You know that he has been working hard to build this community, and this must be crushing his spirit.

"We need to quarantine the sick and help them fight it. But to do that, we need antibiotics, lots of it," you say tentatively. You know that every nearby pharmacy has already been raided, and even if the group survives the flu, without antibiotics, it could turn into pneumonia or other respiratory illnesses.

"It's far, but I know a place where we might find some," Herschel offers a suggestion. You look towards Rick, recalling your previous conversation about no longer making the necessary calls anymore.

Rick takes charge, stepping center stage with you. "Daryl, you take the lead on this. Get a car and supplies ready. Once we know who is sick and who is not, you'll lead a group to get these meds."

You continue, bouncing off his rhythm. "Herschel and Dr. S, you're with me. We'll set up death row as a quarantine zone and prepare. It's clean and the furthest from the other blocks."

Rick picks up where you left off. "Charles, you're with me. We'll stay back as backup, and if they need something else, you and I will head out."

As the group nods in agreement and disperses, you can sense that this is a hit to their morale, but you know there is nothing you can do but fight it. With a sigh, you turn toward Rick.

"Don't worry, we've got this," you say reassuringly.

He nods, his face determined. "We've got this."

"Hey, you okay?" Daryl asks from the other side of the glass window that separates you from death row. You attempt to smile, pulling off one of Glenn's prison guard helmets from your head. It's the only thing you can find with a face shield to protect you from coughs and spit. However, with the mask and helmet, you're overheating quickly.

"I got a group all set, 'bout to head out," Daryl informs you. You let out a sigh, nodding and pressing your gloved hand against the glass.

It doesn't take long before things turn sour. It started with the burning of two bodies. Someone thought they can contain the virus, and they killed and burnt the first two victims that showed signs of the flu. You can't shake the feeling of guilt, wondering if you caused a panic in everyone, leading them to take the wrong measures to protect the group.

One by one, more residents started showing up to the quarantine zone. However, the situation becomes dire when Jamie shows up hacking and wheezing, and you instantly recognized as a doctor that you've been compromised...the unspoken ethical rule. Because you know you would put Jamie's life over everyone in that room, and this awareness leaves you feeling overwhelmed with a sense of dread.

"Take Merle with you," you advise. "Let him watch your back out there." Hershel's plan is to get the antibiotics from a veterinary clinic, and Daryl being out there, deep in the city full of walkers, doesn't sit well with you.

"Why's it gotta be you?" Daryl asks, and you notice the anxiety on his face. You realize that you being inside here with the sick is a real fear for him as well. What if he left, and you were dead by the time he got back?

"I could say the same thing every time you volunteer to go on a run," you say reassuringly, knowing he shouldn't be thinking about you out there. "But you're good out there, and I'm good in here."

"But I just gotcha back," he says, pressing his hand over yours on top of the glass.

"And I will be here when you get back. Don't worry, I've dealt with much worse than a little bit of flu," you say with a smile, hoping to comfort him on his run.

With a sigh, he steps back, ready to head out. "I love ya. Be safe in there," he whispers, and you wish you could hug and kiss him at that moment.

"I love you, and be safe out there," you whisper back.

Notes:

BTW- even though they never said in the show, what they had in the prison was the Spanish flu. It was all in the symptoms they showed, coughing blood, bleeding from the nose, ears, and eyes.