Derek burst through the hospital doors, looking like he might either pass out or freak out at any given moment. "Where's Emily?" he demanded of the nurse behind the admitting desk. He wasn't normally so abrupt, so rude, but he figured that in this particular situation, it was warranted. "Emily Prentiss – where is she?"

The nurse – seemingly taking his brusqueness in stride – typed something in her computer, scanned the screen, and directed him to her room.

Fran hurried along after Derek as he nearly sprinted down the hall, then came to a sudden stop as if too afraid of what he might find on the other side of the door. Fran approached behind him, rested a hand on his shoulder. She understood all too well the fear, knew that in his mind he was reliving watching his father die before his very eyes...

He turned to look at her, fear in his wide eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn't seem to muster any words.

She just smiled tenderly, nodded once.

When he finally worked up the courage to enter the room, he nearly collapsed into the chair beside her bed, looking lost, forlorn at the sight of her lying there, looking so small, so fragile...not like her normally vivacious self at all.

There was a bandage on her forehead spotted with blood oozing out from the wound below, her hair matted with blood as well. Bright purple bruises were already forming along her face and he knew that worse ones surely hid below the hospital gown she wore.

"Emily?" he choked out as he reached for her hand, mindful of the IV, "Emily, can you hear me?"

She groaned softly, stuttered, "Derek?"

He half laughed, half sobbed with relief. "Yeah, Princess, it's me." His thumb stroked tenderly along her knuckles, contenting himself with the small gesture of affection, even if all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and never let go. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," she rasped, unable to resist a deadpan joke even in that serious moment. She couldn't turn her head to look at him because of the neck brace, but she clearly wanted to look in his eyes and find the safety she always felt when he looked at her. "Move," she commanded him.

"What?" He raised a brow, not understanding the frustrated command.

"I want to see your face," she huffed. With her free hand, she patted the bed for emphasis. As he obeyed, coming into her field of vision, she smiled softly, then released a sob she hadn't realized she'd been holding back. "I thought I was going to die..."

"You're not going to die," he vowed, refusing to even entertain the possibility.

She sobbed. "I didn't even care, I was just afraid Simba was going to die too..."

He leaned in to kiss her gently. "He's going to be fine."

There was a knock on the door then, the doctor poking her head into the room. "I'm here to do an ultrasound," she said.

"What?" Emily stuttered, suddenly panic stricken.

"We just have to make sure there's no trauma to the fetus."

Emily gripped Derek's hand as tightly as she could manage. "What happens if he's not okay?"

Derek shook his head insistently. "He's going to be fine, Em. He's a fighter." He clasped her hand right back, kissed the back of it tenderly.

The ultrasound monitor flickered to life as the doctor found a good view of the baby.

Emily could barely breathe as she waited for the all-clear. Derek nuzzled his nose in her hair, kissed her temple, trying to hide how nervous he was for Emily's sake.

Finally, the doctor smile. "That looks like one healthy happy little boy."

"Really?" Emily asked, finally managing to breathe again, even as she tried to get a good look at the screen. "He's okay?"

She turned the monitor so Emily could see. "He's perfect."

Emily had gotten very lucky: there were no serious injuries to her or the baby, beyond a slight concussion, a few stitches to her forehead, and a broken leg which was currently casted up to her thigh...

The doctors were hopeful that her leg would reset on its own with the cast and some physio (the alternative being having to wait until Simba was born, rebreak it, and fix it surgically).

Unfortunately, until then, it meant she was more or less helpless. Much to her chagrin.

Derek was pushing her wheelchair towards the exit (where Fran was waiting to bring her home), pointedly ignoring her grumbling. In the last few days of her hospital stay, he'd gotten more than used to her huffy insistence that she was able to function independently...

Finally, after failing to produce a response from him, she spoke, "They gave me crutches – I can walk."

"Sit, woman," he commanded, refusing to let his pregnant crippled girlfriend walk if he could at all help it, "I like pushing you around."

She huffed, scowled.

"Between being six months pregnant and having a broken leg, you'd better get used to it."

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. "I'm not an invalid..."

He kissed the top of her head. "Princess, you're going to need some help – now and when Simba comes...you'll have to accept that sooner or later. Preferably sooner."

Emily was unusually silent, chewing her lip nervously.

"Em?" he prompted.

"Sarah hates me," she whispered. "She doesn't want me there... If your family has to help me any more than they already do, I don't know what she'll do."

He stopped the wheelchair abruptly, moved to kneel in front of her, gripping her hands. "I don't care. You are my family now and if she won't support you and our child, I don't need that in my life."

"Derek, you can't just..."

"Yes, I can," he insisted. "I can live without Sarah, but I can't live without you."

She gave a watery smile, then leaned in for a tender kiss. "I love you," she murmured against his lips. "But I can walk."

He just laughed.