To Wash's surprise, Zoe is sat on their bed when he climbs down the ladder a few hours later.

“Doctor says he'll call us when he looks like waking up,” she explains off his curious expression, “And you're right, about the sleeping.”

“You don't seem to be though,” he replies, sitting down on his side of the mattress and pulling off his boots and Hawaiian shirt.

“What?”

“Sleeping. Would that be down to your worrying?”

She smiles, not entirely without humour, and lets him pull her into his arms. His fingers knead her shoulders for a moment and she feels some of the tension she's carrying there fall away. “Maybe,” she admits.

He kisses the back of her neck, touch feather light. It's a gentle kiss, chaste and unassuming. She's had a long day and they're both worried. It demands nothing, and it's for that reason so simple a gesture sends the slightest shiver of pleasure down her spine.

“Do I want to know how close it was to you lying in the infirmary now?” he whispers.

She takes his hands from her shoulders to the top button of her shirt. He undoes the row of them, one by one, and slowly slides it off to reveal the dented armour she's still wearing. There are buckles at her side and he undoes those too, depositing the vest onto the floor with a dull thud. The bare skin of her back is pressed against the rough material of his flight suit and she leans back against him, so he can see straight down her body to her belt-buckle. Normally his hands would be wandering by now, almost of their own volition, but tonight they stay on her shoulder. His attention is entirely focussed on the bruises blossoming on her torso. Three raised red weals that will soon start staining purple. Two on her stomach and one on the left side of her chest, right where he likes to start tracing over her breast with his thumb in their more intimate moments.

Right over her heart.

He bought the armour as a wedding present for her, and she'd been touched but adamant he couldn't afford it. She was right, but he hadn't cared. She