AN: I forgot to mention, maybe a half dozen chapters, nothing too crazy. The chapters are connected, just a series of successive scenes in their lives.

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Ingrid winced as Dash prodded at her hand, removing another piece of glass. He'd used anesthetic, so she knew it was more the process of watching that was making her jerk instinctively.

"Please look away," he instructed, after she wrenched her hand away for a third time.

"Yes, doctor," she said sullenly, staring up at the ceiling. She had to begrudgingly admit that it did help.

"I don't understand how it went this deep if you just broke a glass. It's like you fell on it." He paused. "Was this something magical that went wrong?"

She shook her head. "No, you're right, I fell on it. I may have been slightly drunk." She emphasized slightly. "I dropped my glass and when I reached over to pick it up, I lost my balance and my hand went right down on some of the pieces."

She gave up on the ceiling and made sure she was keeping her gaze resolutely on Dash, not on her hand. It was fascinating to watch him work, the single-minded focus he had on fixing his patients. Not much different from the type of focus needed to perform spells successfully, come to think of it.

"Slightly? Ingrid, you almost fell twice on your way in, and then you did fall – onto me."

"I was just giving you a hug because I was happy to see you," she said, kicking her feet back and forth as she sat on the edge of the exam table.

She caught the smile he was trying to hide. "You're still drunk."

"Yeah, probably. It's nice."

"Your hand doesn't think so," he scolded. He'd finished cleaning out the glass and started on the stitches. Ingrid found this easier to bear than watching him poke around for shards of glass, and she watched with interest as he carefully stitched her hand. He noticed her watching. "This is fine with you, me sewing up your hand like embroidery. But taking out a piece of glass is too much."

She nodded. "It's different. See," she automatically tried to move her hands to gesture, as she normally would when talking to someone, and stopped when he wouldn't let her hand go. This also caused her train of thought to completely derail.

"See what?"

"I don't know."

"Okay." He finished stitching her hand and wrapped a bandage around it, then moved his chair back a little. "Why didn't you fix it at the bar?" He meant, of course, why hadn't she used magic?

"There were lots of witnesses, and a lot of blood," she said. Freya and Frederick hadn't been there. She'd been drinking alone. Well, as alone as you could get in a crowded bar. "Besides," she waved her hands up and down her person, "as I said, I was drinking, kind of heavily. Magic and alcohol aren't that great of a mix. The bartender called a cab and it was either go see my mother or come here."

"And you chose to be subjected to stitches instead of an easy magical fix."

"Magic isn't always that easy. There are costs," she informed him, as if he didn't already know that. "Besides, I might have been bleeding a lot in the backseat and the driver took me here despite what I asked him to do. It was a great excuse to see you, though."

"You never need an excuse to see me," he pointed out.

She remembered something else. "I may not have had any way of paying and told the cab driver you'd pay. He also might still be waiting outside the hospital."

"You may not have had money? He might still be waiting outside?"

"Alright, he's out there, okay? I forgot!"

"Hmm, memory issues. You do remember you own name, don't you?" He waited a moment, feigning worry. "Isabelle?"

"You're so funny," she hit him on the shoulder with her injured hand and then hissed in pain. Anesthetics could only do so much.

He wanted to tell her he had no sympathy, but it would have been a lie. Truth be told, he found drunk Ingrid adorable (slightly drunk, her voice sounded in his head). "Maybe don't hit me with your injured hand?" He reached up and brushed some hair off her forehead in an attempt to distract her.

She reached up to take hold of his hand. "Sorry, yours was the first name that came to mind. I'll pay you back." She sounded increasingly distraught, as the magnitude of her indiscretion took on ten times its weight in her somewhat inebriated mind.

He sighed theatrically. "No need, Ingrid, I'll pay your cab fare. And while we're at it, why don't I pay your medical bill for tonight, too?"

"Would you?" She completely missed his sarcasm. Actually, was it sarcasm if he intended to follow through? It was more like he'd never charge her for this visit to begin with. "That's sweet of you, Dash." She grinned at him, and her eyes were bright not only from the alcohol, but from an innate, genuine happiness.

He stood up, taking off his gloves, and wondered about the last time he'd been genuinely happy. A month or two ago he would have sworn it was when he was with Freya, and now…he couldn't help but look over at the woman on the exam table and think about how happy he was when he spent time with her.

"I'd kick you out of here if I thought you could make it down the hallway in one piece," he said, and couldn't stop from grinning back at her. "With my luck, you'd end up deciding to sleep it off here and fall into bed with some poor old guy. You'd make his night, I'm sure."

"I'm always up for hearing I'm the most excitement a guy's had in years," she smirked and gave him a thumbs up, though the effort caused her to tilt dangerously and nearly fall off the table.

He was at her side in a second and helped her down. She swayed from side to side before seeming to find solid ground. "I'll go find your cab and then drive you home," he said, "as I now feel it's my responsibility. My shift was ending anyways." He walked with her out of the room, though when he paused to take off his coat, she moved ahead of him and tipped slightly to the left.

"This hallway's crooked," she said. "You guys should fix that, someone could get hurt."

"Uh huh," he stepped up to her left side and took her arm. "I'll get maintenance on it. One hallway realignment coming up."

She was too busy studying her bandaged hand to reply to him.

"I did what I could, but it will leave a scar."

In her mind, Ingrid replayed how it felt to watch him work. It had been a long time since someone had...taken that much care with her.

Dash shook his head, as if remembering who he was talking to. "You can get rid of it, I'm sure."

She smiled at him. "Why would I want to do that?"

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