Author: Pirate Turner
Rating: G
Summary: A tender moment with Matrix and AndrAla wherein she is sick and they must reach a compromise.
Warnings: Het
Disclaimer: Enzo Matrix, AndrAla, and ReBoot are & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Everything else is & TM the author. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Her world spun as she leaned her head against his massive, leather-clad chest and groaned softly. His arms were already wrapped around her, holding her close to his protective body, and he rubbed her gently, his fingers splaying over her arms and running soothingly down her back. "You should lay down."
"No," she said, her blue hair brushing his body as she shook her head in stubborn defiance.
"AndrAla, you're sick."
"They need me, Enzo. You need me."
He would never again argue with her on that after the times he had thought he'd lost her, so instead he tried, "You need to rest."
"I can rest afterwards."
Holding her steady with one hand, he stepped slightly back. He crooked a finger underneath her chin and lifted her face so that he could look directly down at her. She was pale and trembled against him as another chill swept through her. "You're going to rest," he announced firmly. "The virus can wait." Without giving her a chance to protest any further, Matrix picked his beloved up into his strong arms and carried her to their room.
Once there, he laid her upon their bed, and when she struggled to raise, he pressed her back down with a gentle hand and a firm voice that spoke the words he knew she needed to hear. "I won't do anything until you're better."
She relaxed at his words at first but then tensed when he started to move away. She knew him even better than he knew himself, and even if he had promised her he wouldn't, she knew he was still likely to get angry and go charging, half-cocked, after the latest virus to plague Mainframe. "Enzo?"
He turned back to look at her, and his gold earring gleamed in the shadows. "Yes?"
"Stay with me."
Her words were not a request but a command, he knew, and just as she knew, he also knew that she knew him better than any one else, even himself, though he'd never admit the latter. "AndrAla, I . . . "
"Stay with me," she repeated, "or I'm up and out after you."
He sighed and sank into the chair next to their bed. Reaching out, he took her hand. "I'm here, love. I'm here and waiting for you to get better, and when you do, only when you do, we'll go kick his bitmap together."
Only when she had entwined her fingers firmly with his was AndrAla truly assured that he'd not be going anywhere. She relaxed at last, letting the soft, warm confines of the bed envelope her and her eyes drift closed. They would kick his bitmap together, she swore silently, and only together just as they would always face the world together for neither of them was complete without the other.
She needed Enzo just as he needed her. They needed each other, and only with their completion, their union of two hearts and souls that, sometimes easily and sometimes not so much so, melded into one mind, would they succeed in ridding the 'Net of all that plagued it and living that dream that she'd never thought, before meeting him to have -- her lips quirked in a self-humored grin as she thought the last few words -- of living happily ever after.
The End