When Jillian opened her eyes again Rafe was leaning over her, staring at her. She squeaked. Then lifted a hand to her aching head.

She recognized where she was—Trauma B. With Rafe and Allen looming over her. Well, Rafe was looming. Allen wasn’t quite that close. What she didn’t know was exactly how she’d gotten there. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Rafe took his penlight and waved it first in front of her left eye and then her right. "How's the head feeling?"

"Like it cracked into something. Did I fall?" Jillian tried to sit up but strong male hands prevented that. They were gentle hands, and he let them linger far more than he should have. She didn't care.

She wanted the connection at the moment, thank you very much.

Jillian had just gotten her bell rung, after all. If she shifted just a bit to her right, she could use his big body to block out the light-of-doom right over her head. Could lay her head right there on that shoulder and just rest.

She was tempted to try just that.

Jillian had no doubt he’d be able to get her where she needed to be at the moment without anything else going wrong.

Allen stepped out, and Jillian just stayed where she was for a few long moments.

"What do you remember? We stitched up your forehead. I don't think it will scar too much. We did cut a tiny bit of hair around it. I found you in the stairwell about thirty minutes ago. You’ve been in and out; do you remember? I've already ordered some tests. You're not going anywhere for a while, so don't even think about trying. I'm going to drive you home, as soon as Jacobson gives the all-clear."

"You don't have to do that. I must've tripped, hit my head on something. Right? The last I remember was having dinner in the cafeteria with you."

"That was almost forty-five minutes ago. There are no security cameras in that stairwell. So we have no way of knowing. I'm more worried about what damage you've done to yourself to care about how it happened. Follow my finger."

"I know the drill. I'm fine. Rafe, why are you here so late? I thought you left after dinner." She finally did as he instructed, then did as she wanted.

Her head landed on his shoulder and she tried to block out the light and the sounds and the smells of the ER around them. She’d rather just smell him for the moment.

"Code black conditions tonight. Every hand on deck. Especially me. Any nausea?"

"You know there is. I most likely have a concussion.” Jillian tried to move by herself, but his hands went under her armpits and he held her in place again. "You know, this whole size discrepancy thing between us… It's a little bit annoying."

"Little is the special word of the day. You're lucky you didn't fall down the entire flight of stairs and kill your little self. The least you could let me do is make sure you don't sue the hospital for workman’s comp."

"You know I wouldn't. I probably just tripped, and hit my head. It could have happened anywhere. But if we’re in code black, you need me out there." She tried to remember, but nothing was clear except looking into his dark eyes in the cafeteria and feeling that thrill of something she wasn’t going to identify at the moment.

"Hell no, you're not to even think about working. If you do, I'll chain you to the damned bed. "

"Kinky, kinky, kinky. I didn't know you had it in you, Holden-Deane." The joke was weak and she knew it. But it was better than thinking of the alternative, wasn’t it? He was right; she could have killed herself.

"Now is not the time and place, but I'd love to show you just what exactly I'm capable of, involving a bed. I’ll make you a deal—you cooperate for the CT scan and I'll let you sit at the intake desk. But only until I leave, which will be after the storm. Your loss of consciousness concerns me. We both know the repercussions of multiple concussions in a short amount of time. We’re not risking it. Your pupils are dilating correctly. You’re now alert and cognizant. I’d put you at a thirteen of fifteen on the scale. No matter how stubborn you are, I'm going to take care of you." There was something in his eyes— remembered pain—that had Jillian cooperating. Had her putting her head right back down where she’d had it.

Jillian almost wanted to cuddle him, too. Until they both felt better.

"I need new clothes, these are filthy." And covered in blood down one shoulder. Her blood. Just how serious it could have been struck her. Secondary Impact Syndrome was a very real concern for those who’d had more than one concussion, especially in a short amount of time. If he had not found her, how long would she have been there? She fought the shock of that idea as best she could. "I have some in my locker."

"I'll get them for you. What's the combination?"

Well, if she couldn’t trust him with it, who could she? "1111."

"Seriously? How secure do you think that is?"

"First of all, how many people do you think use a single digit? It works. No one's gotten into my locker yet. There should be a pink bag with spare scrubs at the bottom."

"Stay here, I'll get them for you." He looked up when the curtain was pulled back and Allen leaned back in.

“See she’s awake.”

“Hi, Allen. Would it freak you out if I told you I see two of you right now? Handsome as ever, but there are two of you.” Jillian put her head back down on the man pillow in front of her. She’d just take a minute or two to wait for her head to stop ringing and deal with everything else in a moment or one hundred. She pulled in a deep breath, smelling his aftershave and him, trying to forget the ache in her brain. “Don’t suppose I can get something for the pain?”

“We can try Solpalm—”

“No. No Solpalmitraln. Not for her,” Rafe interrupted, then went on to name another pain reliever. Jillian just kept her eyes closed while the two doctors debated what to give her.

It didn’t matter what they gave her at the moment.

She just wanted her head to stop yelling at her.