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"Where's the damn ambulance?"
John knows he's growling but he can't help it. God knows there's enough flashing blue lights and FBI milling around, it's not like the ambulance can have trouble finding them. Monica's hand - and he refuses to think about how cold it is - closes around his wrist and when he looks down at her, she smiles more than she should considering her pale face and her blood staining his crumpled up jacket that he'd pressed over her wound.
"Calm down," she tells him and the smile is in her voice too. She's trying to make him feel better, he realises.
"You're pretty calm considering you're the one lying in my arms, bleeding on the asphalt," he reminds her and there's that smile again.
"I'm just thinking about all the paperwork I'm going to get out of," she tells him sweetly and he rolls his eyes.
"Don't worry, I'll keep you some." She laughs, which leads to a cough, which leads to her skin growing even paler and he tightens his grip on her, looks around for the ambulance.
When he looks back at her, her eyes are serious. "You ever think..." She coughs again and a flash of fear rips through him. "You ever think we spend way too much time visiting each other in hospital?"
"I can think of better ways to spend the time." She lifts an eyebrow, almost a challenge, definitely a question and the answer comes from his lips before he can stop it. "Say, maybe, dinner?"
As pale as she still is, her smile is brilliant. "Well, I'd rather breakfast..." she tells him and he laughs, despite the circumstances, because one thing about this woman is that she will always keep him on his toes.
"Sure," he tells her, leaning down to bring his lips to hers. "We can work on that."