She let him help her up, and while he got the washcloth she carefully folded the now wrinkled and damp picture and stowed it away in her pocket once more.  She kept her eyes on him as he took care of her, his touch gentle and comforting.  He always knew exactly what she needed, and while she knew he needed just as much care right now she let him do as he wished.  If taking care of her helped him at all then she wouldn’t deprive him of that.

“Only if you eat something too,” she replied, and though her voice was still quiet and strained it had regained that certain edge that left little room for argument.  “You usually eat twice as much as me and you haven’t eaten anything for almost two days.  I’m going to need you to be strong, and you can’t do that if you starve yourself.”

If she laid it out like that, told him she needed his strength, then maybe he would be more apt to agree, to try.