Callie exited the hospital at a dead run, and her feet immediately disappeared for under her. Her head cracked against the cement, and Mark's worried face blurred over her before everything faded completely to black.
When Callie came to nearly half and hour later, Mark was by her side. "You are an idiot!" he exclaimed when she looked at him with lucid eyes. "You ran on slippery ice and nearly killed yourself outside the hospital where you work! Do you have any idea how scared I was? There was blood pouring out of your head! You have a huge gash and four staples in your head!"
"Mark," Derek said firmly. "Stop yelling at my patient."
Callie felt awful. Not only was her head completely killing her, but she felt like she'd somehow done something personally wrong to Mark. She was having a bad year.
Derek flashed a penlight in her eyes. "You're actually fine," he told her truthfully. "Like Mark said, you have four staples in your head, but there's no swelling or anything. You bled out, not in. You'll be fine."
"But you need observation," Mark said firmly. "We don't want you slipping into a coma or seizing."
Derek rolled his eyes. "Have you suddenly switched your specialty, Mark? No?" He turned to Callie. "There's very little chance of either of those happening, but it would be better to have someone with you when you went home."
It was clear by Mark's stance who that someone would be.