The Burroughs

Rourke walks easily, taking extra care after hearing her small cry about when he jarred her leg, though he keeps his gaze in front of him. He turns off the street and into a neighborhood, walking along the sidewalk as he studies the roads.

"Where are we?"

"My neighborhood," he says quietly, turning and walking down a walkway to the front door of his home and up the steps. "Can you reach into my coat pocket and pull out the keys and unlock the door?"

"Thank you." He steps closer, waiting until he hears the click before he opens the door, nudging it further with his foot as he steps in. He sets his case down in the entryway, using his foot to shut the door, and he starts to the bathroom, flicking on the hall light with his elbow as he goes.

"You tried to save them, the least I could do is unlock you door."

He steps into the bathroom and sets her down on the toilet seat, reaching into the cabinet and pulls out a hefty first aid kit. "Stay awake just a little longer," he says quietly, pulling the small stool over and sits. "First, let me see your leg."

"I can't"

"Where is the paint radiating from?" he looks at her, hands resting on his knees, waiting before he tries anything.

"Here..."

He lifts his hands, one resting just above her knee while the other hovers over her leg, and again, he asks permission. "May I?"

"There's no need to be so formal with a stranger."

"It's respect and politeness to a stranger," he responds, gaze moving to her leg as his hand hovers over it. "There," he murmurs, gently pressing against a spot carefully, trying to determine if it was broken or not.