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"Maybe you should have let him pass out," Harmon said, coming up beside me, wincing down at the wound.
"He still might," I told her. "Might make your part easier," I added.
"Hey, I'm sitting right here," Seeley responded, being a sport. Likely because he was half-bombed. "Least she's a prettier nurse than you," he added, looking over at me. "Probably has a better bedside manner too."
"Go on, get this over with. We have some shit to do tonight," I said, watching as Harmon rolled her eyes at Seeley. "
"You ready?"
"To have your hands on me, honey? Always," Seeley said, giving Harmon a weak, but charming smile. If he wasn't so focused on making a good impression, trying to cement his chances of getting a patch, he would be rivaling Remy with the amount of pussy he gets.
"Okay. Ah, ready or not," she declared.
She had good hands, I realized as I watched her tie off the end of the thread, as she paused for a long moment before plunging the needle into skin. I figured her steady fingers, her quick motions once she got over her initial hesitation, were due to all the video games she played, used to telling her hands how to move, and having them do so almost instinctively.
Seeley let out a string of curses, then hissing breaths before, finally, he went slack against McCoy, passing out fully.
"Oh, thank God," Harmon said, voice sounding a bit wobbly. And one look at her let me see a tear spill over her lower lid and slip down her cheek, "I don't think I could have taken his pain another minute," she told me, working faster still, steadily making his torn flesh close together.
The seam was jagged, uneven, would heal ugly. But I figured Seeley would wear it as a badge of honor, would show it off to the chicks who dug scars.
"Okay," she said, taking her first deep breath since she'd started stitching. "That's it. I think. Is he alright?" she asked, moving away from him.
"He'll be fine, babe," I assured her.
"Okay. Well. I, ah, I need to go," she declared, voice more high-pitched than usual. Which, I figured, was the adrenaline wearing off, the reality of the night coming to her all at once.
"Wait," I said, getting to the door before she did. "I will walk you back."
"It's okay. It's not far."
"I'm walking you back, babe. Just in case," I added.
I didn't actually think a threat was lingering around, and I was a bit of a dick to make her think there might be, but I wanted to walk her back.
I didn't stop to think why, just reached for the door and opened it for her.
"Oh, right," she said, body going tense.
"It should be fine," I told her, falling into step with her as the muggy air hit us smack in the face. "I just want to make sure," I added as her gaze went to the street.
"You don't think they hit my house, do you? I don't know how I could explain that to my landlord."
"No, babe, no. This shit, it's personal. They don't want to shoot up a neighbor's house. That just brings more heat on them."
"Because I would call the police, when you wouldn't."
"Exactly," I agreed.
"How do you live like that? Not knowing if your building is going to get shot up one night while you're sleeping?"
"Well, this is a first," I admitted, giving her a smile that she shook her head at as we climbed up her back porch.
"You know what I mean."
"It won't be like this forever," I told her. "These are growing pains. They're fade as we get bigger. We will grow as a club. Have more security..."
"Like the kid with a hole in his shoulder?" she shot back, chin lifting, disapproving. I didn't exactly expect her to be another club bunny, but something about the clear distaste on her face bothered me more than it should have. She was a practical stranger, after all.
"We all get our scars. It's part of the lifestyle."
"Right," she said, tone dismissive. "Well, you walked me home. What are you doing?" she asked when I went toward the door.
"Just let me take a look inside. I'll sleep easier knowing you're all good over here. "Oh, ah, right," she agreed, following me inside, gaze wary again.
"Go wash your hands, babe," I reminded her, watching as her head jerked back, a part of her still struggling to make all the parts of the night fit together. Her hands lifted, her gaze going to them, eyes widening.
She moved toward the kitchen sink while I took a turn around her house, finding nothing, before making my way back to the kitchen where she was still frantically scrubbing at her clean hands.
"Hey," I said, reaching forward to turn the water off. "They're clean," I told her, watching as her shoulders slumped. "It's alright, babe," I added, watching as her head turned, as her gaze slid to me, searching, seeking.
