Boys, as it turns out, are stupid.

They do dumb things like misuse jumper cables. Go on fishing trips. Drop pieces of heavy machinery in such a manner that it hits their person on the way down.

It was the third with which I was concerned, because George, love him as I did, was currently writhing on the ground in pain having just dropped a remarkably weighty mill plate on his foot. As it happens, when seventy or so pounds of cast iron is dropped on a foot, steel toe boots won't do much for you. Yes, your toes will be protected, but mill plates are considerably larger than that. And apparently such flights of idiocy are painful. Go figure.

What was visible, apart from the fact that my best friend was a moron, was the fact that he didn't require an ambulance. So I stuck one of his arms over my shoulder and he started hopping to the parking lot. Which involved a lot of swearing on his part, and very minimal sympathy on mine.

Once actually in my truck, I set course for the nearest trauma centre. Luckily there happened to be one not five miles from the UW campus. Also luckily, about two miles into the drive, George passed out from shock. Although technically speaking, he didn't 'pass out' as much as he was 'assisted into unconsciousness' by me. He was busy hyperventilating, and it wasn't doing either of us any good.

Once at the hospital, it came time for me to get him inside. Luckily for all involved, George's 210 pounds were more than manageable for one such as myself. Also luckily for all involved, I was not 30 yards from the ER doors when some attractive intern arrived out of nowhere wheeling a wheelchair and offered his assistance. After taking a photograph with his phone. Something I wasn't about to question, primarily because I needed to call George's parents and tell them that their son was a moron (although my wording would be somewhat more politic); but also because he was attractive. Very attractive. And it was difficult to appreciate the view whilst carrying a giant footballer.

Once inside and past triage, hot intern guy started asking questions.

"What happened to him?" he asked, in a delightfully deep voice. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"

I raised an eyebrow. "He dropped a mill plate on his foot. He was wearing steel toes, but they didn't really get the job done." I indicated the foot in question, which did not look happy at all.

"You're joking." Quoth hot intern guy.

"Sadly no. It was a large chunk of metal."

"I'll bet. How long has he been unconscious?"

"Not more than a few minutes." I decided to leave out the fact that I'd helped with that. "I think he was going into shock."

"So there were no head injuries involved?" he asked, shining a torch in George's eyes.

"None."

Hot intern guy raised his eyebrows. "Well we may as well take a look at what's under there. Keep an eye on him and if he wakes up try to keep him from freaking out."

"Can I call his parents while I'm at it?" I asked.

"Feel free." Damn he had a cute smile.

And so I dialled, keeping an eye on George lest he come to. I doubted it, generally speaking when I cause someone to be unconscious, they stay thus for a good hour or so. Someone picked up on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hey Helen. It's Leah."

"Hi sweetie. Is everything alright?" Given our history, she had good reason to ask.

"Not entirely. George is in the hospital."

"Why? Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine. It's just a mildly brutal foot injury." Hot intern guy glanced at me quizzically whilst he worked on George's ex-shoe. I shrugged.

"How did it happen?" Helen asked.

I tried not to laugh at the memory, because it was pretty stupid of him. "He was moving a mill plate, and he dropped it. And when you drop 70 pounds of metal on your foot, damage will occur."

"Well thanks for telling me. We'll be right there. Which hospital is he at?"

"Seattle Grace. See you soon."

"Bye."

I hung up, just in time to see what used to be George's foot. Shit was well and truly cray.

Hot intern guy just stared for a moment and then said "I'm going to call my supervisor."

"That seems necessary." I concurred.

He paged someone, and while we waited, I asked "Why did you take a photo before turning up with the wheelchair?"

He looked a tad sheepish. "My little sister runs a Tumblr blog of 'Disney moments in real life'. And not to be culturally insensitive, although I see now that it will be regardless, aesthetically speaking that was a massive Pocahontas/John Smith moment."

I considered it for a moment, gave George a quick once-over and had to concede that he was correct. "Can I see the blog?" I asked.

"I can't guarantee it'll be online yet." He said as he began typing things. "Here we go." He said, handing me an iPhone. "She's already put it up."

Lo, there was a picture of me carrying the unconscious George, with the caption 'Pocahontas really wanted the conquistadores to back off'. Clever.

"Dr Matthews. Why have you called me here?" asked a voice which turned out to emanate from a diminutive African-American woman in doctor's garb.

Wordlessly, hot intern guy (I'd be referring to him as such for a while – the description fitted to perfectly) pointed at what was once George's foot. Alas no longer.

Slightly scary superior pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "Well that looks painful." She remarked before turning to me. "Are you authorised to sign some release forms?" she asked.

"I am not." I replied. "Although his parents are on their way up from Forks."

"And when did they leave?" she asked.

"A few minutes ago."

Slightly scary superior rolled her eyes. "We're going to want to get some x-rays and scans, but between you and me, there's going to be surgery involved." and thus was she gone.

Hot intern guy turned to me. "She's right. They're going to want to wait until his foot…" he seemed to be searching for the right word.

"Stabilises?" I suggested.

Hot intern guy laughed. "That." He indicated… the injury "ain't never going to stabilise. We basically just want to check that it doesn't get worse."

That made sense. Hot intern guy busied himself getting George's leg into traction. "So is he your boyfriend?" he asked.

"Best friend. Has been for years." That's right, hot intern guy. I'm single.

"Would you be able to fill in some forms?"

"I would." I replied.

"Great. Hang here for a second." And off he went, presumably to get some forms, whilst I called home. The phone rang for about twenty seconds before Seth picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Sethles."

"Hi Leah." I was the only person who called him that on a regular basis. "What's up?"

"George, in a fit of idiocy, got himself hospitalised, so I'm going to be home late."

"Late being…?"

"Potentially tomorrow."

"Got it. I'll pass it on."

"Thanks, bro."

Seth really was the best sibling ever.

Anon did hot intern guy return with a clipboard full of papers requiring various personal information, the majority of which I knew, and the rest I discovered by going through George's wallet. Meanwhile, hot intern guy attached various drips and monitors to George's person.

Eventually an older doctor arrived, presumably someone from orthopaedics. He asked for some X-rays, and off was still unconscious George wheeled, leaving me with nothing to do but sit in the waiting area reading The Economist.

After a while, hot intern guy reappeared. "Are you Leah?" he asked.

"I am." I replied, closing the magazine.

"George woke up. He's asking for you."

I stood. "Lead on."

One level up and down a few corridors, I found George, all invalid-esque.

Upon seeing me, he looked suspicious for a moment. "Did you knock me out to stop me complaining?" he asked.

"Prove it." Was my response.

"I thought so." He said. "I take it you told my parents?"

"I did. I also spared no mention of your idiocy." I said, with the slightest hint of evil.

"I'll bet you did." He muttered. "So how long are you sticking around?"

"Well according to hot intern guy I get to keep tormenting you until someone signs the surgical release forms, at which point nothing happens until they start cutting you up tomorrow."

George attempted to suppress laughter.

I rolled my eyes. "He's standing behind me, isn't he."

"Oh yes." Answered George.

"My name's John, for the record." Said hot intern guy. "Although 'hot intern guy' is totally fine with me."

There was no possible response to that. "Nice to meet you." I said, trying not to groan. That was the last time I used the descriptors I come up with out loud in order to refer to people. That was awkward.

To George, he asked "Any allergies that you know of?"

The answer was none, and off hot intern guy went.

"Leah, my dear," began George, "you've really outdone yourself with that descriptor. Hot intern guy. Genius. Pure genius."

"If you weren't already in hospital, I would throw something heavy and pointed at you right now." I pointed out.

George made a 'that sounds like a logical chain of events' facial expression. "I think he likes you." He mused.

"Alas no, the painkillers have dulled your senses. He's mildly fascinated by me because he thinks I maimed you on a whim. Apparently 'he dropped a piece of machinery on his foot' is not that plausible an excuse. Or at least that's what I gathered from his repeated 'because I totally believe you and am not slightly terrified to be in the same room as you' eyebrow raises."

"If that's what you want to believe, then by all means, believe it. But I have to say – that was one delicious chunk of man-candy who could not keep his eyes off of you. And if he manages to find you attractive when you're wearing a pair of coveralls and steel-cap boots, that's impressive."

George's comment reminded me that I was still in my safety gear. Luckily it was an easy enough fix, off came the coveralls, and a quick trip to my truck allowed me to replace the steel-caps with some converses. Not that they were unbelievably ugly boots (I had painted and then glittered them the moment they'd been purchased. After all, I needed them for safety reasons, but damned if I was going to wear ugly boots that weren't sparkly), they just didn't mesh with my look. Insofar as my look wasn't either 'grumpy lesbian ready to kick the shit out of the patriarchy' or 'tradeswoman on her way home after a day on a construction site'.

Back inside George's room, he was staring at the ceiling. "Any news from my parents?" he asked.

"Not since I called them. They should be here any second now."

As it turned out, I was wrong. It was a solid fifteen minutes until they turned up. When they did, it was with much 'how could you be so stupid'ing. They made sure he was alright and then went back home. After all, there was nothing they could really do until the surgery happened. I on the other hand had a whole pile of Structures that I needed to work on, and George, medicated or not, happened to be very good at the Newtonian Mechanics based subjects. Which Structures very much was.

Three problems in, I was interrupted by George groaning.

"What's up? Are you alright?"

He just stared at me with a look of 'did you really just ask that question'. "No. I'm drugged to the gills and you're doing mechanics near me. My brain hurts. Also, that number should have been negative and you've been compounding the error for the last ten calculations."

I looked at my work again and saw he was right. Bastard. "Fine. No more homework tonight." I packed up my textbooks and got George to move over so that I could get on the bed next to him.

"Not that the bro time isn't lovely," he said, "don't you need to head home?"

I shrugged and rested my head on his shoulder. "I'll crash with someone once they kick me out."

He rested his head on mine. "You probably should get home you know."

I groaned. "I can't face it right now."

"What's up?" he asked, manoeuvring an arm around me. "Seriously. Neither of us want a repeat of what happened last time you decided to keep things to yourself."

That was for sure. "Josh has been trying to get me alone so he can 'talk' to me. Which can only mean one thing."

"He's realised that you're the best thing that ever happened to him, and that he wants you, he needs you, oh baby, oh baby?"

I snorted. That I could deal with. Ok, probably not, but at least Josh was attractive without a shirt, smart, funny and an incredible kisser. Off topic. "I hope not. He probably wants to give me a heads up regarding the fact that they're going to be engaged soon." I took in a shaky breath. I hated the fact that every so often I'd still get choked up talking about them.

George gave me a squeeze. "You knew this was going to happen eventually. It'll be fine."

"That's not it at all." I clarified. "The moment he asks her to marry him, everyone's going to start treading carefully around me, constantly checking that I'm alright, that I'm not going to spiral into depression and such. I'm past that. Mostly. I just don't want to have to deal with everyone's sympathy. I hate it when people start pussyfooting around me."

George was silent for a moment. "Give Josh a call."

I stayed still.

"Seriously. Give him a call. While I'm here."

"But what if…" I trailed off.

"You won't. You'll be fine, and I'll be right here."

I groaned into his shirt and then got my phone, sitting down in the corner opposite the bed. Josh was, naturally, on speed dial. I pressed the button and listened to it ring. He picked up almost immediately.

"Leah, are you alright?"

I smiled slightly. "I'm fine. Stuck in Seattle for the moment, but otherwise all good."

"Do you need me to come get you?"

I smiled a little more. He was the sweetest guy I knew. "No, I'm here because George, the great idiot, got himself horribly injured, so I'm hanging with him until his surgery tomorrow."

"Clothing caught in machinery?" he asked.

"Dropped a seventy pound chunk of metal on his foot."

I heard a wince. "So why'd you call?"

I took a deep breath. "You wanted to talk."

"Are you sure now's –" I cut him off.

"If I don't just talk to you now, I'll keep avoiding."

"George guilted you into this, didn't he."

"Little bit." I admitted.

Josh chuckled. "Sam's planning to go over and talk to you. We both know why. I tried to talk him out of it, but he pulled rank. I said it would just make things worse, but he seems to think you need closure or something like that. So far you've never been at home when he's come around, but just be aware. Hopefully he'll run into Seth, who's just been itching to share his opinions on the matter." He paused for a moment. "Are you ok, Lee?"

I nodded.

"Leah? Are you still… words. Out loud." Every so often it was really obvious that he was a teacher.

"She's got that look. The panic eyes." Called George, who was well aware of the fact that Josh would be able to hear him, and assumed that my protracted lack of movement was an issue. Which it was. I was doing my very best not to have a badly timed breakdown.

I heard a noise which I assumed was Josh running his hands through his hair which was what he tended to do when he was worried about something. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Now I need you to go to wherever George is, and I need you to give him your phone, and I need you to stay there until I arrive. And you need to breathe."

I let out the breath that I had been holding without noticing that I had been doing it.

"Good. I need to talk to him before I go, so I need you to give him the phone now and then just wait there for me." I nodded, stood shakily and curled up on the bed next to George, handing him the phone and trying to keep everything under control.

"Hey."

"What happened?" asked Josh.

"She was talking to you, and then she just stopped everything and got that look…" he paused. "You know, that look she gets when –"

"I know the one."

"Well that's what just happened."

"Shit. This is why I wanted to talk to her in person. Look, I'll be there in fifteen. Just hold the fort until then."

"Sure thing."

George hung up the phone and did what he always did – kept me away from sharp objects. "Tell me what's going on, Leah."

I took a moment to try to compose myself. "It's degree stress, manifesting in this. I just need to ride it out and I'll be fine."

"You don't really believe that, do you."

I didn't answer. Meanwhile George stroked my hair and waited for Josh to arrive.

When he did, he paused for a moment at the door, taking in the lay of the land. "Thank you." He said to George, who replied "Thank god, I've been fighting the pain meds to stay awake."

"I've got it from here." Said Josh, who crouched down so that he was at eye level with me. "Leah," he said taking one of my hands, "I'm going to take you home so we can talk. Ok?"

I nodded.

"Good. Get yourself upright." He took off his jacket and put it over my shoulders, and then while I sat upright, he picked up all of my college stuff. When he was again in front of me, he took my hand and pulled me upright. "Can you walk?" he asked.

I nodded.

Slowly, with his free arm around me, we made our way to my truck. Josh then installed me in the passenger seat, walked around the car and started the ignition, taking a moment to see how I was going. I was managing to keep it together. Just.

Josh turned around to look at me. "Do you want to talk?" he asked.

"No."

"You're going to have to at some point, Lee." He pointed out.

"Now is not that time. I am not the girl who has massive crying sessions in her car." At least, not any more.

"Fine. How's college?" Josh had learned that keeping me talking until I was someplace I could ride out the breakdown unencumbered was the best way to go.

"I finished one of my thesis simulations today. How are things at the school?" I asked. Josh was an elementary school teacher.