Joan closes her eyes as well, her head against his, tears slipping down her cheeks, her heart an aching mix of relief and fear and anguish and love.

He could have died. He was so close. He could still die, if this is too little, too late. If the head wound is worse than it appears, if his brain is bleeding, if there's some internal bleed from his beating that they don't find soon enough...he could die right here, or die in the ambulance, or in the hospital...

"I love you," she whispers, her breath hitching in a sob. If this is the only time she has to say it, then she has to say it. He needs to know.