"Of course. I'll be quiet as a mouse. Let's go." He firms his grip around her waist, bends at the knee slightly, and wraps his free arm under the backs of her knees, lifting her up, bridal-style. Rory's light enough, and a mile isn't that far. "We'll get there faster this way." He starts walking briskly, now.

He tries distracting her from the wound, the pain, the feelings of incompetence. "So who's mother hen three? Is there a mother hen one and two?"