"He doesn't need kneecaps to live," she points out, but subsides.

He's warm and steady and his arm is tight around her, keeping her pressed against him, her coat tucked a little awkwardly around her. "Nothing broken."

She's sore everywhere and dizzy enough to wonder if he'd concussed her with that slam of his forehead against hers, but she can move and think and breathe with minimal discomfort.

"He got a few good hits in, but I'm okay."