Leonard was waiting just inside the hatch when Sara and Jax returned, the former leaning heavily on her companion. He stepped forward and scooped her up into his arms without giving her a chance to protest.

"Think you can manage this bucket of bolts for a little while longer?" he asked Jax.

"I'm on it. You take care of her." The younger man headed back to the bridge.

"That was stupid," Leonard hissed, anger, and frustration, and so, so, much fear making his tone as harsh as his hands were gentle.

"Had to," Sara replied, letting her head fall weakly against his shoulder. "Couldn't let Jax kill Rip."

"Why the hell not?" Leonard snarled.

"Because he's not like us…and I don't want him to carry that kind of darkness. Not on my account."

"You didn't have to go out there, minutes after Gideon brought you back from the dead. I could have gotten the kid back."

Sara felt the fine tremor of rage in his muscles. She reached up and brushed her fingertips against his split lip, feather-light. "You're too angry right now. You would have killed Rip."

"Damn straight." He'd seen her injured before; the life they lived, there was no way around that, but this…a gut shot was something you did to make your victim suffer. That was what had him - quite literally - seeing red and seething with fury.

"All you can see right now is the fact that he hurt me, but there's a bigger picture. We're gonna need him."

He sighed as he carried her into their quarters. She was right, as usual. It was why she was the captain. He'd come a long way from his days as the king of crime in Central City, but the sight of her blood, so casually spilled, had him right back to that moment when he'd frozen his own bastard father's heart.

Leonard set Sara gently in a chair and matter-of-factly began to pull the pins from her hair. She sighed in pleasure as he carefully loosened the coils of her hair and ran his fingers through them. The feel of the silken strands slip-sliding though his sensitive fingers helped to center him.

"Bunk's over there," Sara teased, hoping for a smile.

"No."

Sara paused in the act of untying the strings of her cloak and looked up at him, one eyebrow quirked.

"Not yet," he rasped. "I need to get that blood off of you." He knew, beyond all doubt, that that snow-white shift, with the bloody, gaping hole, would figure in his nightmares for some time to come.

Part of her wanted to protest - she was bone-tired - but there was so much naked pain in his eyes. She nodded, and let him grasp her hands and gently pull her to her feet. Sara stretched up on her toes, leaning into him when her own legs wobbled, and pressed her lips to his - just the briefest touch, sweet and gentle, and mindful of his busted lip.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have been more careful."

"This isn't on you. It's all on him."

"I should have known better," Sara insisted.

"I should have moved faster," Leonard countered.

"OK, fine. I changed my mind," she said mischievously. "Let's blame Rip."

"Let's," Leonard agreed, with just the hint of his usual smirk, which is what she's been aiming for.

He guided her into the bathroom, pausing to let Sara drop her ruined and bloodstained shift to the floor, before settling her on the built in shower seat. She leaned back against the wall as he fiddled with the water settings, then discarded his own clothing to join her under the warm, gentle spray.

Leonard's hands touched her so tenderly as he washed away the blood that spattered her fair skin. Normally, Sara might have protested being handled like a porcelain doll, but death had come a little too close today, and she knew he needed this. When the blood was washed away, and he pressed a fierce kiss to the fresh scar, she cradled his head against her body, ignoring her own exhaustion, and let him sob against her, for a long, long time.

Sara was sitting up in their bunk when Leonard returned from having his face patched up (she'd insisted). She was wearing one of his shirts, and her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, and he'd never seen anything more perfect in his life.

"You should be asleep," he chided.

"Not without you," Sara replied, laying down her book, and holding out her hand.

He stepped out of his shoes and padded over to the bunk. Sara reached up and traced the newly healed planes of his face.

"Better?"

He turned his head slightly to kiss her palm. "Better." He slid in under the covers beside her.

"I understand Ray is planning a monumental Christmas dinner."

Leonard shrugged. "It seemed a good way to keep him occupied. And it's going to take him a while, so you can get some sleep in the mean time."

"I like that idea," Sara confessed, cuddling into his side, knowing that today, he needed that tactile reminder that she was here, safe, with him. "Read to me?" she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

Leonard chuckled softly. He never could resist that look - especially not today, when he'd come so close to losing her. Now, she was warm and alive beside him, and that was all that mattered. He picked up the book - a worn leather-bound copy of A Christmas Carol, and leafed to the end, to the happy part…and that was fine with her. They'd had quite enough death for today. It was time for a little hope.