A thought slipped insidiously into Noah's addled mind. It encouraged him to realize that this could happen to his own daughter one day - and even then, she might not be as lucky as the girl folded into his arms. The thin line of his mouth grew even thinner as the man attempted to forcefully eject the stupid idea from his head. He focused his eyes on the girl, watching as she grimaced and shook. Her skin felt clammy and cool against his own. He felt like he was burning up. Sweat slid down his forehead.
There was the barest trace of a nod from the girl, after Noah told her she couldn't sleep. He was satisfied with that response and tried to find a way to let his arm sit to make his elbow hurt less. Apparently, there wasn't one.
Noah took in a deep breath as ambulances and police cars finally drew in to the scene. It was the first time he took his eyes off the girl since he'd picked her up, but he did it. He glanced around, spying the paramedics as they circled, questioning onlookers, asking what happened and who needed help. Hands pointed toward him and the girl. Noah frowned, making eye contact with a red-headed paramedic as the other man approached.
Softly, he said to the girl: "Alright, here they come. You're going to be okay." It was probably one of the gentlest things that ever passed Noah's lips. He grunted, the pain flushing through his body, as he stood. More people in white outfits were following the redhead with a stretcher. As they drew close, Noah looked steadily and grimly at them.
They wanted to prod him and ask him questions, he could tell. And he wasn't going to have that. He was going to hand over the girl. Maybe get his foot looked at. Then go home. "Bring that here," he said, annoyed, to the man and woman wheeling the stretcher. Carefully, with help, they laid the brown-haired girl on the crisp white stretcher, paying attention as not to jostle her unnecessarily.