A broken wrist.

He's a fucking idiot. Not once in his entire bike riding career had even fallen off his motorcycle before, but one sharp turn this evening, and he found himself skittering across the road- the only thing keeping him from becoming a human crayon behind his protective gear. Robin was fixing his poor bike now, leaving Luke to saunter into the nearest Emergency Room and haggle with a disgruntled nurse about getting seen early. No luck.

The waiting room isn't all that bad. You're here. A cute little number with a toddler on your lap, your knee bouncing to calm the little thing, which is cooing and looking around, but face pinched up like he's going to cry. You had been here since he arrived, and that had been two hours ago. He didn't want to imagine how long you had been waiting to be seen despite the ER being mostly empty. Your poor kid was restless, and you... you were in pain. It was written on your face.

Poor sweetheart, Luke thinks idly, fingers itching to grab a cigarette from his pocket, but he doesn't want to get kicked out. Not when his wrist was throbbing painfully. Besides, he wanted to keep looking at you.

The second your baby started to hiccup, little sobs falling from his lips, your face twists up as tears gather in your eyes. God, he feels sorry for you. You're exhausted, in pain, and now your baby is crying. Didn't you have a man to take care of the kid? Or better yet, to take care of you? Where the hell was the guy? A lousy excuse for a partner and father... and that idea sends a pang through his heart. Goddamnit.

He hates himself for what he's about to do. Luke locks eyes with your sobbing little creature and puffs his cheeks out, sticking his tongue out. He blows a raspberry. Your baby hiccups, quieting down for a moment, blinking and never looking away. God, he's a sweet little thing, just like you. The baby giggles, kicking his little legs as your eyes snap over to see what had caused the distraction.

Your eyes meet Luke's and he knows he's fucked.

An angel.