There's always a dull ache in her hip – you know that – but when she's lying beside you in bed, her arm resting softly over your tanned abdomen, you realise that whenever she moves, she grunts, and tiny packets of air rush against the soft, naked skin of your back; it's obvious she's in pain. "Kerry," you whisper.

You want to ask her about her hip, but at the same time, you want to keep the peace and silence in the darkened room. The only light coming in is through the gap between the curtains, and the bright sunlight lies across your legs.

"Yeah," she murmurs, her lips resting softly on her back. She shifts slightly and you can almost hear the wince.

"Is your hip bothering you," you ask, even though you already know the answer. Kerry sighs; she doesn't have to answer you, she knows that. Instead of speaking, she nods, and you can feel it.

Peeling her pale arm off your abdomen, you turn to face her. There's a look of sadness, despair, in her eyes. You slide your hands over her naked form, softly caressing her painful hip. "You want something for the pain?" You ask and she shakes her head.

"Already took some, about an hour ago," Kerry answers. She puts her hands on your own hips, and you smile.

The room is warm – overly warm – like the weather, which is why the two of you are naked, in bed, in the middle of the day. Kerry had the day off and you aren't on shift until later. "Ok," you acknowledge; there are probably Tylenol in the nightstand, you realise – Kerry's been living with her hip her entire life.

You look into her eyes, and smile. You love that you love this woman – faults and all.