The episode ended without any of them quite noticing.
The laughter track faded, the screen shifted to credits, and the room settled into a softer quiet.
The light from the television flickered across the walls, across Elliot's face, across Val where she sat tucked carefully against him, her fingers still looped through the fabric of his sleeve.
Val blinked slowly, the weight of the day finally catching up with her. Her body ached in a dull, persistent way that no amount of distraction could fully mute. She shifted, then stilled again when her ribs protested.
"I think," she said gently, her voice lower than before, "I'm ready to go to sleep."
Elliot's body tensed beside her, not in alarm, but in readiness. He turned toward her immediately, eyes searching her face.
"Yeah it's been a long day. "
Val gave him a small smile.
"Long everything. I'm… really tired."
Elliot was already standing. His knees knocked the edge of the coffee table as he rushed to stand up.
"I'll help you," he said, then paused, recalibrating.
"I mean. If you want me to."
She shook her head, even though something warm and appreciative flickered in her eyes. "I think I can manage," she said. "It's only a few steps."
He hesitated, then nodded, though every line of his body suggested reluctance. He stepped back to give her space, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides.
Val pushed herself up from the couch carefully, bracing with her hands. She managed to stand up for a moment while the room swayed faintly. She inhaled, steadying herself, then took a step.
Then another.
By the third, her breath caught as a sharp pain flared through her ribs, stealing the air from her lungs. She froze, her shoulders tightening as she fought not to fold forward.
Elliot noticed instantly.
"Val," he said as he moved towards her.
"I'm okay," she tried to move again, but this time the wince was unmistakable. Her hand curled into the fabric at her chest as she stopped altogether.
The room went very still.
Noah stayed where he was, watching without comment, without moving closer, trusting the them to figure it out.
She exhaled through her teeth, then turned back toward him. Slowly, deliberately, she reached out her hand.
"Okay," she said softly. "I was wrong. I need help."
He didn't rush her. He didn't fill the silence. He simply stepped closer, carefully, like approaching a skittish animal.
She lifted her hand toward him, her fingers trembling just slightly.
Her reaction to him landed somewhere deep in his chest.
"I've got you," he said at once. No hesitation. No qualifiers. Just certainty.
He reached out and took her hand, gentle, but steady. Her fingers curled around his instinctively, warm against his skin. He felt the contact like a current, grounding and terrifying and right all at once. He put his other hand around her back to support her.
"I've got you," he said again, quietly, not as reassurance, but as fact.
She nodded, relief softening her features. Together, they slowly took another step. Then another. Elliot adjusted his pace to hers without thinking about it, matching her rhythm, keeping his body close enough to support her without crowding her.
Noah watched from the sofa, his expression unreadable, but calm. He gave them space, letting them find their way through this small, intimate choreography on their own.
They moved toward the hallway, the apartment hushed around them, the evening drawing in close as if holding its breath.
And for the first time since the accident, Val let herself lean into the help being offered.
Elliot did not let go.
"Tell me if it hurts," he said.
"It already does," she replied lightly. "But you're doing great."
That made his ears burn.
When they reached the guest room, she sagged a little with relief. Elliot had made the bed earlier, crisp white sheets were pulled tight, pillows werr fluffed into neat lines. Elliot guided her to the bed and lowered her gently before releasing his hold.
"Do you need anything?" he asked. "Water? Medication? Another pillow?"
She shook her head, then frowned as she tried to adjust herself. Her bandaged hands made everything clumsy. The duvet bunched awkwardly under her legs.
Elliot hesitated only a sec
ond before stepping forward. "May I?"
She nodded.
He helped her ease back, arranged the pillows behind her shoulders one by one, careful not to jar her ribs. His movements were precise, almost reverent. When he finished, he stepped back as if afraid he had done too much.
Val looked up at him, her eyes glossy with exhaustion but warm. "You're very good at this," she said.
"I'm not," he replied immediately. Then, after a beat, more quietly, "But I'm trying."
"I can tell."
She yawned, then winced and laughed softly at herself.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart in your living room."
"You didn't," he said.
That seemed to satisfy her. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then opened again as if she had remembered something important.
"Elliot?"
"Yes."
"Thank you. For staying. For all of this."
His chest tightened. He nodded once because speaking felt risky.
Noah appeared in the doorway then.
"I'll head out," he said gently. "I'll be back in the morning."
Val smiled at him. "Thank you too. For everything."
He gave her a small salute.
"Get some sleep. Both of you."
Elliot walked Noah to the door. They spoke quietly, only a few words. When Elliot returned to the hallway, the apartment felt different. Quieter. Smaller. Like the walls were holding their breath.
He stood outside the guest room for a moment, listening. Val's breathing had already evened out, slow and steady. Relief washed through him so strongly it made his knees feel weak.
He did not go far. He sat on the floor just outside the door, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up. He told himself it was practical, that he needed to hear her if she called out. That was true. But it was not the whole truth.
His thoughts wandered, then tangled. He thought about how natural it had felt to hold her steady. How terrifying it would have been to fail her. How strange and grounding it was to want someone's safety more than his own comfort.
This is what caring feels like, he realised. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just constant. Heavy and gentle all at once.
Sometime later, the air in the room stirred.
"Elliot?" Val's voice was barely more than a breath.
He was on his feet instantly, the movement sharp and quiet. He appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with concern.
"I'm here."
"I just..." she murmured. "I couldn't sleep for a second. I wanted to check."
She opened her eyes fully then and found him standing there, uncertain, devoted, real.
"You don't have to sit on the floor," she said softly.
He hesitated. "I don't mind."
She patted the edge of the bed, careful of her ribs.
"You can sit here."
Every instinct told him to refuse. Every rule he had built over years of caution flared to life. But she was watching him, open and trusting, and something in him shifted.
He sat.
Not close. Not touching. Just present.
"Elliot," she said after a moment, "you don't have to be perfect all the time."
"I know," he replied. "I just want to help you."
She smiled. "You are."
Her eyes drifted closed again. This time, she stayed asleep.
Elliot remained where he was, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, letting the unfamiliar feeling settle in his chest. It was fear, yes. But it was also something else. Something steadier.
He did not name it yet.
But he stayed there. All night.