A/N: Hey all! I'm so sorry this took so long to get up - between work and school and my horse, things got pretty crazy. You have four solid days in the woods to thank for this chapter :) Thanks to everyone who has followed this story; please continue to review (it makes me write faster ^^).

A crowd had yet to gather. Ordinarily, that would have formed several questions in Toby's mind. However, considering the scene's location, it was wonder it had even been seen by the woman who reported it. The car was tucked away in an alley just off of a quiet, two-lane street. Toby and Oz had to carry their gear down to meet the scene, their rig too wide to chance the narrow space.

Toby pressed himself hard against the wall, but still managed to tear his uniform on the twisted metal of the sedan as he squeezed by. Tiny bits of gravel scraped beneath his shoes, the noise setting his already frayed nerves even more on edge. The metallic odor of blood was thick in the air. He felt the sting of bile at the back of his throat, a visceral response to what greeted him at the front of the car. He heard Oz suck in a breath. Swallowing thickly, he pulled himself out of his shock. He knew he should be taking a clinical approach, if only to keep his head straight, but this was bad.

Half of the car's hood had disappeared as if by some grotesque work of magic into the wall where the alley dead-ended. The other half was showered with shards of glass and all but consumed by bright, arterial blood. The passenger window fanned out into almost gossamer spider webs.

The windshield had been obliterated. To Toby's horror, the damage had not been caused by the impact, but rather by flesh. The passenger's mangled body lay sprawled, halfway out of the car, on the crumpled hood. One of his arms stretched outward, fingers curled sharply around air. Toby's eyes followed the rivulets of red to the source of the bleeding. A large, jagged piece of glass hand buried itself in the boy's neck, viciously slashing the jugular and giving him a crimson necktie.

Toby reached for an unmolested patch of skin, already knowing what he would – or wouldn't – find there. "Oz…he's gone."

"I've got a pulse here!"

Toby was at his partner's side within seconds. "What's her status?"

"Non-responsive, resps shallow at seven."

"Let's get a collar on her."

"Damn, I can't get in!"

"Here," Toby all but dove through the window and immobilized the woman's neck with practiced ease and gentle hands. He felt the soft puff of exhalation on his arm as it passed in front of her face. It nearly escaped his notice that her lips were taking on the appearance of a dead, barkless pine branch. His stethoscope confirmed his suspicion. "We need to get her out of here – now."

"She could have a spinal fracture!"

"She's hypoxic. She could die if we don't intubate!"

Oz took a moment to deliberate, his shuffling feet illustrating the difficult decision the pair was confronted with.

"Are you going to help me, or do I have to pull her out on my own?" Toby never wanted to fight with Oz, but this woman's life was at stake, and he wasn't trained to be indecisive.

Oz finally relented. "Ok."

***

Try as she might, Olivia knew she would never understand Toby's apparent obsession with the welfare of her patients beyond his responsibilities in the field. She was by no means accustomed to connecting personally with those she treated. Her skills lay almost entirely in her intellect and mental dexterity. It had been the same all through high school and college. All the same, Toby's undying tenderness was perhaps the main reason for her feelings for him. What exactly did she feel?

"Liv?" Toby's tone reminded her of her failure to answer his earlier question. "Is she…?"

"No, no, she's fine. Well, not fine. She has a severe concussion, collapsed lung, and her right femur was crushed. We're stabilizing her as much as we can before we go in to repair the damage to her leg."

"How long until she can talk?" Now he sounded like Charlie.

"The surgery will take several hours, and she'll need to stay on the vent until we're sure her lungs can handle the strain…her husband arrived about an hour ago…"

"You told him?"

From the solemnity in his voice, she knew what he meant. "Yes…he knows." His eyes fell to studying the pattern of the tile. She hated seeing him like this. She reached out and pulled him close, as much for her own comfort as for his. He pressed his lips, soft and brief, to hers as they separated. He fingered the seam of her coat, tracing a spot of blood her could swear hadn't been there a moment ago. Olivia's delicate hands soon found the frayed cloth at his side and let out a slight gasp when her fingers came away wet.

"The car," he said simply.

She took his arm and ushered him into the nearest empty exam room. She shut the blinds, leaving the lights off so the room was cast into semidarkness. Toby moved to untuck his shirt, but she placed her hands over his, staying them. She gingerly drew the fabric from its place beneath his belt and set to work unfastening the buttons from the bottom up. When the last had been undone, she slipped her hands underneath, crawling up and over his shoulders and dropping the shirt to the floor. Despite the fire inside beckoning her to pull closer, she stepped back.

As her eyes sought the injury, they were halted by something she hadn't expected. It would not have been noticed by anyone else, but she had studied his body – perhaps more than even her own. There, nestled on each side of his otherwise chiseled torso, several ribs could be seen beneath his skin. Were they a bit more pronounced, Olivia imagined, they might have resembled prison bars stretched across his body. Worry etched her features, but the lines melted as his thumb brushed her chin and began stroking her cheek with the grace and fluidity of a butterfly's wing. Warmth flooded her. Her eyelids fell and she leaned, ever so slightly, into the touch. They stayed that way for a time, until a clanging in the hall broke the peace of the moment.

In an instant, they each returned to themselves. She set to work cleaning, stitching, and bandaging his wound, careful to adjust her movements to follow each breath he took. When the last piece of tape was secured, Olivia returned to her rounds.

Toby knew he should get back to Oz and his shift, but instead he stood quietly outside the MVA victim's room. It disheartened him to know she would be unable to speak for some time. He needed to know how a mother and her son ended up driving down a deserted alleyway and straight into a wall. As a result, he soon found himself longing to hear more than the slow, methodical whoosh of the ventilator.

He spent a good three minutes working to compartmentalize his own thoughts, keeping them as safe as he could from the potential stampede he was about to unleash. He then concentrated on locating the door to her mind – hers, and no one else's. It was as delicate and difficult a task as moving one's little toe independently of all the others. When he was a comfortable with the results as he could get, he opened up, just a crack.

Flash. Driving, knuckles white on the wheel. 'What am I going to do?'

Flash. Slowing to turn down the alley. 'I can't live like this.'

Flash. Look over at the boy. He is screaming, clutching the seat. Turn back. A wall rushing up to meet the dash. A sickening crunch. Pain, such pain. Darkness.

Toby pulled out, gasping. His heart twisted in his chest, sinking under the weight of what he had just witnessed.