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“Damn that woman’s bedside manner sucks,” Zorro growled with a frown.
“I heard that,” Dr. Quinn said.
He entered the exam room, shooting Zorro a dirty look. If the doc was mad, her bedside manner could deteriorate further. He wasn’t into unnecessary pain. He sat on the table.
“Are you attached to that?” She nodded toward his chest, her face pinched.
He followed her gaze to his M4. “Uh, no ma’am.”
She huffed a sigh, and he went and set his weapon against the wall.
When he came back, she said, “Where are you injured?”
“I caught some shrapnel and debris in my neck and shoulder after an IED blast.”
She nodded. “Please remove your vest and both shirts.”
The release of the Velcro at his waist was loud in the room. He grunted as he lifted it, the throbbing pain coming to life and zapping him sharply. She started to help him, then gasped. “My, that’s heavy.”
He unbuttoned his uniform top and groaned as he began to shrug it off. She touched his arm. “Let me.” She moved around to the back and grabbed the material at his good shoulder and worked it free, then carefully slid it off his injured one. “I’ve got the T-shirt as well.” He kept his hands at his sides as she moved to his uninjured shoulder and again followed the same procedure to minimize the pain in his injured shoulder.
She was quiet for a moment as her professional fingers touched and examined. “Looks like minor stuff that doesn’t need stitches, except for this one in your shoulder.” She walked over to a cabinet and sink combination and returned with a syringe and some medicine in a glass vial. “I’m going to give you a local.”
He felt the needle touch different parts of his neck, then embed in his shoulder. The stinging, throbbing pain subsided as his skin went numb.
As she worked, he couldn’t stop thinking about Bree. “How is Agent West?”
“Cuts and bruises, a minor injury to her hand, like she said. A bit jittery from the adrenaline. From what I can see, and smell, you all need a lot of fluids, a good number of meals, definitely a shower, and about sixteen hours of sleep.”
“Tell that to my CO.”
“I already did,” she said smugly. She was quiet for a moment, her voice subdued. “Looks like you were in a bad spot.”
“Most of my job is in bad spots.”
“Fair enough.”
“What did my LT say?”
“He said you had a job to do with his tough alpha male attitude, but then agreed.”
Blitz chuckled at her exasperated matter-of-fact tone.
“Agent Huxley?”
“He’s got a more serious wound, blood loss, but he’s going to be all right with some healing time and PT. I’m afraid he’s going home. At least he’ll get the fluids, food, and rest he needs.”
All the while she worked, he hadn’t felt any pain, but the sensation of something being extracted from his skin pulled.
“Hmm. Deep enough for a couple of stitches.”
She came back around the table. “So IED blast. How’s your head?”
“Ringing in the ears, but most of the concussion passed over us.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah, but I think that’s from dehydration more than the blast.”
