Elsa moved back on the day bed until her back was against the ornate cushions that formed the back of the seat. Stretched her legs out at an angle to leave enough space for Raylan.

He arrived home stumbling, nothing like his usual confident swagger; had insisted that he was fine, that he was just bruised and rest and sleep would fix the problem. He had needed help to get his shirt off, and when she had seen the beginnings of the bruising around his shoulder and down his ribs, she wanted to argue. But he looked so beat up, tired and out of sorts she was going to humor him for a while.

He crawled across the cushions and slumped into her lap, his injured shoulder uppermost. Elsa gently bunched the cushions to try and give him a little support, pushing the big blue silk-covered one under his elbow to support his arm. Then very carefully she packed the two ice packs and the pack of frozen peas around his shoulder.

He whimpered.

Raylan never whimpered, he was as tough as old army boot leather and this was scaring the living daylights out of her. She wanted to be angry with him because he was scaring her.

Raylan knew she was angry, and scared, and his girlfriend had a right to be, because he was messed up. As badly as he did not want to admit that something was seriously wrong with his shoulder, he knew he had to go to the emergency room.

But Elsa's lap was comfortable, the pain was manageable as long as he didn't move anywhere, and her fingers stroking through his hair was spreading a feeling of well-being through his psyche.

"Guess I really should ring Winona," Elsa said, Raylan frowned, but kept his eyes closed, "tell her that Daddy isn't up to taking Francesca this weekend."

Raylan's eyes snapped open, he looked up at Elsa, and bit his lower lip at the jolt that spiraled out from his shoulder. "I'm…" he gasped as the jolt resolved into a sharp sting somewhere deep inside his injured arm.

"Raylan Givens, if you say fine." Elsa's eyes flashed. "I won't be responsible for my actions."

Her words were angry, but her hands were still gentle as she stroked his hair back. He moved to try and sit up, and winced as he conceded that she had a point. He had stiffened up in just the few short minutes since he lay down. His right arm was almost useless.

Elsa's hand curved around the back of his neck. "Ray, lay back down." He tried again. "NOW!" She didn't often take that sharp tone with him and Raylan was too sore and tired and damaged to argue. She reached into the patch pocket of the colourful overshirt that she was wearing and drew out her cell. "I'm calling reinforcements," Raylan's frown deepened, "we're going to the ER and then I may call Winona."

Raylan screwed his eyes closed. "Raylan Givens, she's the mother of your child, she has a right to know you're injured."

He conceded that point too. "Coming round to my way of thinking, huh?" Her fingers were buried deep in his overly long hair, stroking his skull gently but firmly. Elsa gave incredible head massages. Despite the pain, Raylan was practically purring.

He lost a good bit of time then. Vaguely aware that Elsa had called someone, even though he didn't like things being taken out of his hands, he gave in to the urge to close his eyes and drift a little. He could feel the warmth of her lithe body, her gentle hands anchoring him and that was good enough.

A knock on the door, Elsa called out "It's open." He was about to admonish her for her sweet openness, which was charming, and beautiful and one of the things he loved most about her, but entirely mis-placed in this context, him down and injured and utterly unable to defend her; when the tone changed entirely.

He felt her tense. "What are you doing here?" He hadn't thought Elsa could manage to have that hardness, that level of command in her tone.

He couldn't move, the pain was too much and Elsa's grasp on the back of his neck was firm and unyielding and he realised she wasn't nervous, just angry.

"Well, Miss Elsa, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is…"

"I know who you are, Boyd Crowder." He really had never heard that tone before, damn if she wasn't defending him, protecting him, and damn if that wasn't some kind of turn on. "I know exactly everything about you. Raylan's not up to seeing you."

He wanted to draw, to roll over and defend her, but his Glock was in its holster on the side table and his injury had sapped his strength, he opened his eyes in time to see a blur, and his startled brain caught up with his eyes and he processed the revolver in his love's hand.

Behind him he heard a sharp intake of breath, and the small sound as Boyd took a backwards step. He didn't need to see it, he could hear it.

Footsteps and voices, and it turned out that Elsa's reinforcements were Tim and Rachel to help get him on his feet, and Art's wife Leslie with her nursing bag to check him out and do something to immobilize his arm for the journey. In the chaos Boyd slipped away.

Elsa and Tim got him out to the car, Tim's SUV, Rachel drove, which pissed Raylan off a little, he had never gotten the chance to drive Tim's SUV. "Rachel will take care of it," was Tim's snarky answer to Raylan's question, Raylan growled that he would be just as good at taking care of Tim's truck. Tim's left eyebrow shot into his hairline. "And we're taking my truck because you take such good care of your own vehicle…" Raylan tried not to shoot a glance at his own truck, just beyond the Town Car that was his Marshals' Service ride. The old green pick-up had seen better days, that was f'sure. There may have been a pothole in the road, because the SUV lurched just a little then, and Raylan's snarky come-back was forgotten as he screwed his eyes shut and bright white sparks lit up behind his jammed shut eyelids.

Raylan's law enforcement status and Leslie's inside knowledge got him seen immediately, and the rest of it passed in a blur. Every time it got too much, Elsa was there, holding his hand, stroking his hair back, just talking to him. At one point he had vague memories of asking Elsa to sign his consent form, because he was right handed and his arm wouldn't work.

He woke in a hospital room, some kind of plastic brace over his shoulder, and his right arm wrapped up firmly against his body, his fingers resting against his left shoulder. It ached like hell.

There was movement off to his left, Winona was sitting in a hard plastic chair next to his bed, at Raylan's puzzled frown she grimaced and said "Elsa is in the bathroom getting a shower and a change of clothes, the poor girl has been here all night for you Raylan."

Memories of Elsa's hands and soft voice soothing him through his pain and discomfort nudged the edge of Raylan's slightly confused memory. "Huh?" Hardly his most brilliant riposte, but he was feeling a little under the weather.

Winona continued, "I've changed my plans, you can have Francesca next weekend."

Raylan didn't like that. "But…"

Winona cut him off before he could object further. "No buts," she said firmly, "Your shoulder is badly messed up, you have a cracked collar bone and a partial dislocation. I am not even going to ask how that happened. They've managed to put everything back and wrapped you up like a mummy. You can't manage Frankie this weekend, Raylan." Winona got to her feet. "I have to go now, and I think you have some bridges to mend." She leant over to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Don't mess this one up cowboy, we were a bad habit but you might actually have a real shot with Elsa, and if I have to have a step-mom for Francesca, I can't think of a better one."

He listened to the sound of her heels as she left the room. His eyes fixed on the bathroom door which opened slowly.

Raylan Givens was used to seeing anger, hurt and disappointment on the faces of the women who were unwise enough to try and have a relationship with him. The look in Elsa's eyes was different, just worry.

He sighed, and held out his good hand towards her. "Elsa."

Elsa sat in the hard plastic chair and put her hand in Raylan's. "Don't think I'm not mad at you." She fixed him with a steely glare. "Everyone is mad at you. What possessed you?"

If Raylan could have shrugged he might have tried it, "It seemed like a good idea at the time?" He tried to look appealingly innocent.

Elsa rolled her eyes. "Don't be disingenuous, it really doesn't suit you. I meant when you were done being Captain America, why didn't you accept Rachel's offer of a lift to the hospital?"

Raylan's usual litany of excuses and smart remarks died on his tongue. "Pride." He admitted, and squeezed her hand. "Sorry."