Caroline knows she looks pretty horrific; she’d seen the bruises in the mirror at the hospital and now that it’s been a few hours for them to really set in, she imagines they’re even worse.

“I –”

She can’t get another word out before Hannah drops her bag thoughtlessly to the floor and she rushes forward, falling onto her knees in front of Caroline. Her hands come up, but pause just before they actually touch Caroline, as if she’s afraid she’ll hurt her even more.

Caroline is more than positive Hannah’s touch would feel like heaven right now. Especially because she hasn’t really felt it in weeks. Hannah is so tactile that it hasn’t been until Hannah completely limited their contact after the trip that she realized how much she’s gotten used to those casual touches.

She’s proven exactly right when Hannah’s hands come up to cup her jaw moments later. The touch is so light and tender, it makes Caroline feel precious in a way she’s certain no woman before her has ever even attempted.

Her eyes fall closed with the relief.

“I’m – your face, your perfect face,” Hannah murmurs, “All of these bruises. And all of this blood.” Her eyes trail to Caroline’s shirt before she shifts up closer, her face only inches away from Caroline’s, her hands soft and steady.

She sighs into the hold, leaning into the comfort she desperately wants to take and hadn’t realized how much she’d needed. That comfort, mixed with Hannah’s closeness – her warmth and her scent – makes her feel like she is more than ready to lean back and go into the drifting nap she’d been in.

The urgency in Hannah’s voice cuts through that. “God, baby, what happened? Who did this to you? Were you mugged? We need to call the police. No, we need to get you to a hospital, first. Hospital and then the police.” She strokes her fingers lightly over Caroline’s cheeks. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

The words come out in a whisper as Caroline forces her heavy eyelids to open. “I already went.” She lifts her wrist which has a cozy new home for a couple of weeks in a brace. “My meeting went well. Well enough that her husband threw furniture at me, anyway, and that’s why I wasn’t there. I should have called, but I wasn’t, I’m not…” She gestures vaguely to her head before pointing toward the prescription bottle on the table that has one more pill in it. “How’s Abbie?”

She’ll figure something out to make it up to her, she nods to herself, when she’s truly thinking clearly. Tomorrow. And when she figures out where her phone is, she’ll call her.