There was nothing he hated more than hospitals. Their waiting areas were always much too sterile, too uninviting, and the smell of detergent only underlined the uneasy atmosphere that seemed to perpetually hover in the air. Adam leaned his head back against the white-washed wall behind the row of plastic chairs he was sitting on.

They had admitted both him and Joan to the emergency room after they had been brought in by the ambulance, but had been put in different examining rooms. Adam had had to wait for over half an hour on a bed behind a curtain before a tall, lean doctor with an eastern European accent had come to stitch up the cut in his hand. After that, they had all but kicked him out to wait in the waiting area. When he had asked about Joan, they had told him that he would be informed if there was any news. He hadn't gotten any more information about Linda either.

Adam lowered his head and looked at the starkly white bandage on his hand. The local anesthetic was wearing off and the cut was starting to sting unpleasantly. He carefully flexed his fingers, wincing and emitting a hissing sound as he did so. This was his right hand, his mouse-hand. James, his boss, wouldn't be happy about that, what with the deadline coming up in three days. But maybe it would have healed somewhat by Monday.

"Are you hurt real bad?" a child's voice pulled him from his reverie.

Adam looked up into the face of a maybe five year old girl with shoulder-length dark brown, curly hair. She cocked her head to the side, studying Adam curiously. He suddenly realized that he still must have blood stains all over his arms, face and clothes in odd places. Maybe he should find a bathroom and try to get halfway cleaned up.

He looked back at the kid and said, "No, these..." he pointed at some of the blood stains, "aren't mine. I helped someone who got into an accident."

The kid then looked at the bandage on his hand, her face still scrunched into a quizzical expression. "But your hand is hurt."

He lifted it slightly. "Yeah, I cut it."

"Does it hurt?" the girl asked innocently.

Adam had to smile slightly. "A little."

The girl stepped closer, carefully took Adam's hand into her own and lifted it to her mouth. She blew on it and told Adam very matter-of-factly, "There, it's all better now. Mommy always says that if you blow on it, it won't hurt that much."

Adam's face formed into a full fledged smile now. "Yes, that's so much better. Thank you." He looked around to see where the girl's parents might be.

Just at that moment, a woman neared the both of them, saying in a sharp voice, "Stacey, come here. Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?"

Adam quickly told the woman, "No, no, it's okay. She was just..." He trailed off. "She was trying to be nice."

The woman was slightly placated by Adam's words. "Oh, she's way too curious for her own good. Sorry if she harassed you."

"She didn't harass me, don't worry." Adam got up and wanted to offer his right hand, but then withdrew it again. "Sorry," he said when he realized that he didn't exactly want to have his injured hand squeezed. "Adam. Um, Rove," he introduced himself.

The woman looked taken aback for a second, but then thought the better of it. "Shirley. Plakston. And you've already met my daughter, Stacey." She slowly sat down in the seat next to Adam while Stacey moved closer to her mother but continued to stare at Adam with childlike curiosity.

Adam was suddenly aware of all the blood and dirt stains on his clothes and skin. He gestured at them with his good hand and said to the mother. "Sorry about all the... mess. I was kinda... I was involved in an accident."

"So what are you still doing here?" Shirley asked.

"My—" for a second he had been tempted to say 'girlfriend', but that was hardly the case. Anymore or again. He quickly corrected himself. "A friend of mine is still being examined, I'm waiting to see her."

"Oh," Shirley said, placing Stacey on her lap. "Was she badly injured?"

"No," Adam replied. "At least I hope not." He directed his gaze at Stacey, who was now playing with a doll, mumbling imaginary dialogue. "So, what's your story?" he asked Stacey's mother.

"Oh, I'm just waiting for my husband to get off work. It's warmer in here than out there, you know."

Adam nodded. "Yeah, Chicago can still be pretty cold around this time of year."

Just then, a petite, blond nurse poked her head into the waiting room. "Mr. Rove?"

Adam looked up. "Yes?"

"A Ms. Girardi is asking for you."

"Oh, right." Adam turned to Shirley. "Looks like that's my call. It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, you too. Take care. Hope your friend will be okay."

"Thanks," Adam told her and then followed the blond nurse, who was clad in a light blue nurse's uniform, back into the emergency room. He was directed to an examining room. When he entered it, Joan was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, trying to put her shoes on. Adam could see that it was obviously causing her pain to do so, so he quickly crouched down in front of her. "Here, let me help."

Joan gladly accepted the help. "Thanks," she said with a sigh of relief.

When she had both shoes on, Adam got up. "So, what's the verdict?" he asked, trying to joke.

"Amputation and then brain surgery in the morning," Joan deadpanned. "No, seriously, it's just scrapes and bruises. Pretty bad contusion on my hip, but they assured me no internal injuries or broken bones. They said I can go home but I should take it easy for the next few days." She lifted a small sheet of paper from the bed and waved it. "And take lots of very potent drugs," she said with a smile.

"Unchallenged," Adam laughed. "Okay, let's get you out of here."

"No objection from me." Joan slid off the bed and Adam went to her side to see if she needed any help. But after the first tentative steps, she managed on her own. Nevertheless, Adam hovered close by, in case she did need support after all.

They left the exam room and Joan had to sign some papers at the admittance desk before she was officially released. When they turned to go, Joan suddenly stopped and addressed Adam. "Wait. What about Linda? Have you heard anything?"

Adam shook his head. "I asked, but they wouldn't tell me anything."

Joan went back to the admittance desk. "Excuse me," she addressed a rather voluminous African-American nurse. "There was a woman brought in earlier. She was in a car accident, her name's Linda. Can you tell me what happened to her?"

"Are you family?" the nurse asked, sounding mildly annoyed.

"What? No. No, I... I think we may have saved her life."

"Oh." The nurse raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anything if you're not family. But you can leave me a note that I can give to her. I think if someone saved my life in an accident, I'd like to at least know who my savior was."

"Can't you tell us anything? Anything at all? At least if she... if she made it?" Joan almost begged. "Please?"

The nurse gave Joan another scrutinizing look. Then she sighed. "Okay. Just this once. What was her name?"

"Linda," Joan said. "No, actually Melinda, I think. I don't have any last name."

"No last name? That's gonna be a tough one, honey. Do you know how many patients are rushed through here every day?" The nurse sounded annoyed again.

"Can't you try? Please?" Joan asked again. "She must have been brought in some time between one and two PM, she might have had a spine injury of some kind."

"Okay, here's what we'll do. You write a note and I'll try to find her for you and make sure she gets your note. That's really all I can do."

Joan sighed. "Okay," she agreed, seeing that this was the best they would get, given the situation. She asked the nurse for a sheet of paper and a pen and scribbled a quick note for Linda, saying that if she wanted to get in touch with either Joan or Adam, she could do so. She put both hers and Adam's cell phone numbers on it after having asked Adam to spell his out. She folded the note up and handed it to the nurse. "Please make sure she gets this."

The nurse smiled at her, but Joan couldn't say if it was a fake or honest smile. "I will, I promise."

"Okay," Joan said before she turned to finally leave the hospital with Adam.

Outside, Adam hailed a cab and they both got in. Adam gave the driver an address that was unfamiliar to Joan. She looked at him. "Where are we going? That's not the hotel."

Adam shot her an incredulous look. "You think I'm gonna let you go back to the hotel in your condition? I'm taking you to my place. If that's okay with you, I mean."

Joan didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure if that was such a good idea. Meeting with Adam had sounded like a good idea when things had gone according to plan. A nice lunch, maybe some contemplating old times, then back to the hotel and her life. Spending a whole night in such close proximity brought a bit of a disconcerting edge into the picture. But the truth was, she could probably use the extra help, fragile as she felt right now. Maybe staying with Adam didn't seem such a bad idea after all.

"Yeah, okay, sure," she said guardedly.

Adam must have realized her hesitation when he said, "Don't worry, I have an extendable couch in the living room that's actually quite comfortable. I mean, you can always go back to the hotel if you don't like my place. Deal?"

Joan was reassured somewhat. "Deal," she said, leaning back in her seat and watching the houses pass by as the cab driver steered them through unfamiliar streets, wondering what Adam's apartment would look like.

--...----...----...--