The days following Dax's crash were a blur of hospital visits, painful recovery, and a heavy atmosphere hanging over the crew. It was clear that Dax wasn't the type to sit still for long, but with a fractured leg and a few broken ribs, he had no choice but to slow down.

Erin, however, couldn't bear to leave him alone. The garage was still running; Rev and Jinx were keeping things in check, but Erin couldn't focus on anything except Dax's recovery.

Despite his insistence that he could handle things on his own, Erin knew better. Dax had always been the one to jump into action, the one who refused to ask for help. But now, with crutches and an injured leg, he was forced to rely on others in a way he wasn't used to.

One evening, Erin found herself standing at Dax's front door, a small bag of groceries in hand. She'd debated whether she should let him have some space, but as the days dragged on, she realised she wasn't just worried about his leg, she was worried about him.

When Dax opened the door, he looked surprised to see her, his crutches positioned awkwardly at his side. "What's this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I told you I'm fine. I don't need anyone fussing over me."

Erin rolled her eyes, pushing past him gently. "If you keep sitting here with nothing but take-out and frozen pizza, I'm going to have to call in a nurse."

"Hey, I can take care of myself," Dax protested, but Erin wasn't having it. She set the bag on the counter and started pulling out the ingredients for a quick stir-fry, ignoring his protests.

Dax hobbled over to the couch and sank into it with a deep sigh, propping his leg up on the coffee table, cushioned with a pillow. He didn't argue, but his frustration was clear in the way he leaned back against the cushions.

"I'll be fine, Erin," he said quietly, his voice softer this time. "You don't have to keep checking in on me."

Erin paused, glancing over her shoulder. There was a vulnerability in his voice that she hadn't expected. Despite his tough exterior, he was hurting. Not just physically, but emotionally too. She could see it now, he wasn't used to being dependent, and this whole experience had shaken him more than he was letting on.

"I'm not just checking in, Dax," she said, her voice gentle. "I want to help. You've always been there for the crew, now it's our turn to be here for you."

Dax was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to his lap. He didn't argue, but the stubbornness in his eyes was still there. "I'm not used to needing help."

"I know," Erin said, her tone soft but firm as she turned back to the stove. "But that's okay. We all need help sometimes. Your ego won't be bruised for long," she japed, which made him chuckle.

For the next hour, Erin moved around the kitchen, the rhythmic sounds of chopping vegetables and sizzling in the pan filling the space. Dax watched her from the couch, occasionally glancing over at her. He couldn't help but notice the way her hair fell loosely around her face as she worked, the way she hummed to herself while she cooked.

There was something about her presence that was different now. He'd always respected her, admired her skill and strength, but seeing her like this, in his space, taking care of him... it was starting to stir something inside him.

When dinner was finally ready, Erin set two plates down on the coffee table between them. Dax hesitated for a moment before grabbing his crutches and carefully sitting up to eat. Erin watched as he struggled to balance, her heart aching for him.

"You know, you don't have to do this alone," she said quietly, her voice suddenly softer. "I'm not going anywhere, Dax."

He looked up at her, his eyes lingering on hers for a beat longer than usual. Something passed between them, an unspoken understanding. But Dax quickly looked away, picking up his fork and stabbing at his food.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered, though it was clear he was processing more than he let on.

As the night wore on, they ate in comfortable silence. Erin had expected the usual easy banter between them, but tonight there was something different in the air. They weren't just two teammates anymore; they were beginning to see each other in a new light. Erin's heart was beating faster than usual, and she found herself stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

But Dax didn't seem to notice. His focus was on the food, on his recovery, on anything but the quiet shift between them.

The days passed quickly, and Erin found herself visiting Dax more often than she expected. What had started as just checking in on him became something else entirely. She'd spend hours talking with him, making meals, or just sitting together in comfortable silence. It was nice to see Dax more relaxed, even if his stubbornness still shone through.

But there were moments, small moments, when she could see the walls he'd built around himself start to crack. Like the time she helped him with his crutches, guiding him out onto the balcony to get some fresh air. Or the time he looked at her with that quiet intensity in his eyes, as if he were about to say something but couldn't quite find the words.

She had to admit, she was starting to feel something more than just friendship for him.

One evening, as Erin helped Dax change his bandages and check his leg, she caught herself lingering a little longer than usual. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she adjusted the wrap, and she felt the heat of his gaze on her.

"Thanks," he said, his voice low. "For... everything."

She glanced up, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The connection between them was palpable now, stronger than it had ever been.

Erin swallowed, trying to keep her heart from racing. "You don't have to thank me, Dax." She paused, meeting his gaze with a quiet intensity. "I want to be here. With you."

His eyes softened at her words, but he didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.

As she finished up with his leg, Dax leaned back against the couch, his face softening as he watched her. Erin could feel her pulse quickening, the unspoken tension between them growing stronger. But neither of them made a move. Neither of them said the words that were hovering in the air between them.

For now, they were both content to let things linger. But deep down, Erin knew something had changed. Something was growing, drifting between them.

And no matter how much they tried to fight it; the feelings that had begun to surface were only going to get harder to ignore.