When you work on the police force, you don't generally expect to retire without a few scars, both mental and physical. Alec knew this. Alec accepted this. So when the bullet entered his leg and ruptured his femoral artery, he was more irritated than frightened. Even as the ambulance spirited him away to the Broadchurch hospital, Alec wore a scowl rather than a fearful grimace.

When you got a call informing you that your darling boyfriend had landed in the hospital, you had pretty much the opposite reaction. You threw some clothes in a bag, not really checking that you had what you needed, and zoomed off to see him, fretting all the way.(You'd later discover that the bag contained three different t-shirts, a pair of socks, and exactly zero pairs of pants.)

When you arrived, you were quickly pointed toward Alec's room, where he was laid up with the same grumpy scowl as always. Seriously, how the hell did he manage that when he was under anesthesia?

Luckily, the bullet had been fairly easy to extract, and Alec hadn't lost too much blood. Still, you refused to leave him. You rooted your rear to the chair nearest to his bedside and waited for him to wake up. And waited. And waited some more. And wait—zzzzzzz.

When he woke up to see you dozing at his bedside, Alec couldn't help but smile, feeling like he'd swallowed a spoonful of warm, smooth caramel. How sweet you were.

He reached over toward you and rested a hand on your head, smoothing your hair down against your head. You'd wake up eventually. For now, he just wanted to bask in the warm feeling of having such a caring, loving partner.