DISCLAIMER: I do not own BBC Casualty or any of its characters.

A/N: Hey all, here is Chapter 6. The more I read back over this story the more horribly unrealistic it sounds, but I suppose that what happens when you write at 2am in the morning. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this far. This chapter does contains mild injury detail. If you have time to leave a review please do. I'd love to know what you think. As always, enjoy x

UNTIL WE GO DOWN

- World We Made -

Something's wrong. He feels it in his bones as soon as he arrives back at the collision site. The sky above has grown heavy with rainclouds, and the summer breeze is no longer warm or comforting. The ambulance - thank heaven - is still secure. To the right the lorry driver paces back and forth, mumbling to himself. Two metres to the left: a slumped figure with an arm pinned over her chest.

"What happened?"

The lorry driver starts in alarm and then points worriedly at the paramedic.

"I... I don't know," he rambles. "One minute she was fine; next she just leaned over and fell asleep. What's wrong with her? Is she gonna be okay?"

"Pravi?" Dylan kneels down beside the paramedic, willing the disorientating fog to clear from his mind. "Pravi, can you hear me?"

Her breaths are even, but her pallor is pale.

"She said her head hurt," the driver informs him, shuffling from one foot to the other, "but I didn't think it was that bad."

Shaking his head in frustration, Dylan checks the paramedic over for any other injuries, worried that he might have missed something obvious.

A bloom of dark red seeps through her uniform trouser. The culprit: a large shard of glass.

"She..." The lorry driver turns positively green. "She didn't mention anything about her leg hurting."

The cut is relatively clean, and there's a surprisingly small amount of blood surrounding the wound itself, but he won't remove the offending object, not unless he can assess how deep the injury is.

"We're going to need some bandages," Dylan thinks aloud.

He considers his options: climbing up onto the top of the ambulance and opening the door, or clambering back in through the window. Neither choice seems promising. And the rope he'd secured the ambulance with earlier suddenly doesn't appear as sturdy as it had before. There's no telling what adding extra weight will do at this point.

Turning to the man hovering a few metres away, Dylan wonders whether or not he had already ascertained his name.

"Dan," the lorry driver supplies.

"Dan." Dylan nods. "Have you got a first aid kit?"

"Uh, yeah," Dan replies nervously. "Yeah, I think so."

He stumbles toward the lorry and starts rummaging beneath the passenger seat. A few moments later he produces a small first aid kit that looks as if it has never been used.

"Alright, Pravi, if you can hear me, I'm afraid you've got a rather large piece of glass in your leg."

Another shake of her shoulder and her eyelids flutter open.

"What?" she mumbles. "What did I miss?"

A well of anxious laughter bubbles in his chest, but he doesn't make a sound. Meeting the young paramedic's gaze, Dylan gives her a reassuring nod.

"You've injured your leg. I'm going to secure it for you, and then we can take a better look when we're back at Holby, okay?"

She hums an unintelligible reply. He should reprimand her for not mentioning the injury earlier, but he finds he is too busy reprimanding himself. He should have noticed. Should have checked. His hand trembles as he unravels the bandage, bolts of pain shooting down his arm with each movement. He grunts in annoyance, and sets to work. Somewhere over his shoulder, Dan stops pacing.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"No." He reconsiders, decides to take the offered support. "Well, actually, you could talk to her, I suppose. Give her something else to focus on. That would be very helpful."

Dan digs his hands into his pockets.

"I don't really know what to say."

"Well, anything will do really. I don't know," Dylan mutters. "What you had for breakfast. The weather. Anything."

The driver's brow creases in thought, and then he comes a little closer, mask in place, and squats on his heels. He looks like the sort of man who might, at any given moment, faint dead away at the mere sight of blood. But he doesn't. And though his body trembles, his mental fortitude is staggering.

"Hey. Hey, Pravi. It's Dan." He leans forward, makes sure he's in her line of sight. "You know, I been thinking about what you said earlier. 'Bout you giving your ambulance a name. An' it got me thinking maybe I should give my lorry a name. What do you think? Maybe you could help me choose one?"

Pravi shakes her head, musters a chuckle.

"Well, it's gotta mean something. You can't just pick one out of a hat or anything. You should name her after a writer or a musician or..." She hisses as Dylan gently places the bandages either side of the glass. He mumbles an apology. "I don't know. Someone you look up to."

"Hmm. That's a tough choice." A beat. "Wait. That's it. I've got it." He snaps his fingers, looks ever so pleased with himself. "Pravi."

"What?"

"Me lorry," Dan laughs as the paramedic blinks in confusion. "I'm gonna name her Pravi. After you."

"Me?" Pravi echoes bewilderedly. "Why me?"

"Cause every time I look at her," Dan replies, his expression serious, "every time I get behind the wheel, I'll remember this day. An' I'll remember you and what you said to me. I'll remember to take my breaks when I'm supposed to. I'll look after myself properly. And I'll stand up for myself too and do the right thing. That's a promise that is, Pravi."

"Oh man," Pravi smiles, brightening considerably. "I'd give you a fist bump if I could."

"Okay. Okay, well done. That's secure," Dylan confirms as he pins the bandages in place, satisfied with his work. "You just keep your leg still now, Pravi, okay? Help is coming. We've just got to wait a little while longer. How are you... how're you feeling?"

"Hungry," Pravi replies honestly.

"Right. You haven't eaten yet today, have you?" Dylan realises. "Well, that accounts for the fainting."

He's been too preoccupied with escalating anxiety to notice his own hunger, or anything else for that matter. Only now, with the surety that help is coming, is he able to feel a sense of reality. Like his feet are back on the ground. Like he is at liberty to simply breathe.

Certain that the paramedic would be fine, Dylan stands up shakily. He needs to check on Faith.

"There's a packet of crisps in the glovebox," Dan offers. "Cheese and onion, I think."

Pravi's eyes light up, erasing her fatigued expression.

"You're kidding!"

"They're all yours if you want them." Dan shrugs, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll give 'em a wipe down with the antibac so, you know..."

"You're an angel," Pravi beams as he walks in the direction of his lorry. "You know that, right?"

Dan snorts in reply.

"Hardly."